The Nature of the Beast
by Jaden Anderson
Summary: The youngest Cousland never met Duncan, never became a Grey Warden, never became the Hero of Ferelden. But fate won't let go so easily - everywhere she turns, Alistair is there. Cousland must retake her land from the man that stole everything, and along the way face challenges the youngest Cousland never thought possible.
1. Chapter 1

**What if the youngest Cousland never met Duncan? What sequence of events would her life have taken rather than becoming the Hero of Ferelden? Were some things simply meant to be?**

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><p>Chapter 1<p>

"My lady!" someone shouted across the courtyard.

Emma glanced up, halting in her swing for a brief moment before delivering the killing blow, striking down across the throat and splitting it open. With a smirk, she jumped back and away from the hay that practically exploded everywhere.

She tucked her sword away before turning, grinning broadly at the man crossing the field. His eyes were bright and full of life. They always had been.

"Dairren," she beamed. Two more large strides and he was standing before her, her hand sliding into his. A furious blush deeply colored her cheeks the moment his lips brushed against the back of her hand.

"It is so good to see you again," he said.

"And you! When did you arrive?"

"Just now, my mother is off with yours somewhere, discussing the usual."

Emma couldn't help but laugh. She knew exactly what that meant, having been privy to their reunions before.

"And how have you been?" she glanced up at him and couldn't help but inquire. It had been far too long since they had met last, at his mother's last spring salon. She had all but insisted the two marry, a joining of the two families. What she didn't know was Dairren and Emma had already been discussing it. They simply didn't wish for their parents to know yet. They enjoyed keeping it between the two of them. Both of their mothers would simply ruin everything.

"I've been well," he told her, his eyes roaming over the field behind her.

She watched as a satisfied grin curved his lips before he flicked a different look down on her. One that wasn't so casual. There was a heat to his eyes that singed her down to her toes.

"I've missed you," he said in a low voice. "These past few months without you have just been horrible."

She simpered at him, lowered her gaze shyly. In the art of war, she was a battle maiden, proficient in almost all weapons and tactics. She was unmatched by any within Highever. But when it came to love, she was quite young and inexperienced.

"My lady," yet another voice came.

Her hand slipped quickly from his and she snapped to attention, glancing over her shoulder.

"Yes?" she asked the guard.

"Your father asked to speak with you."

"Very well."

She fed Dairren an apologetic look.

"I'll be in the study," he told her. "Come see me when you're finished. Perhaps tonight is a good night to share the news with both families. Maker knows they could use it."

Butterflies suddenly fluttered in her stomach at the thought. But he was right. With Dairren, Fergus, and her father all leaving in the morning, some good news would be appreciated. She quelled the fear nagging at the pit of her stomach that some of them might not return.

His fingers grazed her cheek lightly before he turned and left. She dared a single moment to watch him as he strolled away before turning and chasing after the guard. She'd heard the talk, knew Arl Howe was expected with his troops to head to Ostagar in the morning. Curiosity burned through her as she wondered just what he wanted. Typically it was Fergus who attended the political talks as she had no interest in that whatsoever. Give her a blade and something to hit with it and she was a happy Cousland.

A few new guards stood outside the hall. The Arl must have arrived soon after Lady Landra and Dairren.

"There you are, my lady," someone suddenly panted next to her.

"Oh, Ser Gilmore."

"Your mother has ordered me to track you down. I'm afraid your mabari has been causing a bit of a ruckus in the larder and Nan is threatening to leave. Your mother insists that you gain control of 'the beast' as she called it."

Emma glanced back to the hall doors, the guards hand upon it as they prepared to open it for her.

"Can it wait?" she questioned. "I've also been summoned by my father."

If anything, Gilmore seemed to pale to a green color. "Normally I would never interfere with your father's orders but your mother was rather incessant that this be dealt with immediately. I am even to accompany you to ensure the task is completed."

Sighing, Emma nodded and altered her course, now following after Gilmore. "I suppose this shouldn't take more than a few minutes. I'm sure my father will still be there, discussing politics when we're through."

"Thank you," he breathed.

She understood his position. No one wanted her mother after them. While always polite and calm, she had a way of ripping one's soul into shreds.

The sound of Nan's yelling was heard even from down the way. She had just barely turned the corner when she picked up on her high pitched shrieks. Groaning, Emma rushed forwards, barging into the room before the woman said something she'd regret.

"You!" the old woman bellowed, pointing her finger directly at Emma. "Get that mongrel _out_ of my larder!"

"Calm down woman," Gilmore appealed to her, stepping forward gently.

"That beast has been destroying the entire place! I don't know why, nor do I care. Just take care of it before I petition your father to deal with it!"

Emma tried her hardest not to laugh. Her father was the largest sucker in the estate for Spartacus. Mabari's were entirely too smart for their own good. It seemed a little odd that he would tear apart the larder for no good reason other than enjoyment.

"Easy Nan," Emma crooned. "I'll take care of it."

"You had better," she growled before spinning back to the two elven servants cowering in the corner and shouting more orders.

Deciding it was useless to argue further, she gently opened the door and poked her head inside. Sure enough, there he was, stalking low to the ground, his nose pressed right to the floor. All around him were crates of food smashed into little pieces, none of which eaten.

"Spartacus," she scowled as she threw open the door. "What have you done?"

The dog glanced up at the sound of his mistress's voice for a brief moment before turning with a deep growl. He barked deeply, quirking an ear back as though listening.

"It does seem he's trying to tell you something," Gilmore offered, sidling through the door after her.

She nodded, about to speak when she heard a light squeaking from the corner. Before she knew what was happening, the room was flooded with giant Kocari rats. Even Gilmore shouted out in alarm before reaching for his own blade. She mimicked him before lashing out, slicing the first one within reach in half. Warm blood sprayed across her face, dripping down onto her clothes.

"Oh lovely," she growled before striking out at the next.

Not long after they began, dozens of tiny corpses lay at their feet, blood covering practically every inch of the room. Nothing was spared, not even Nan, who stood at the door watching in horror.

"It's like the start of every horror story I've ever been told," Gilmore whispered in awe as he stared around the room.

Emma didn't even know what to say. She had never seen so many rats before in her life.

"It seems he followed them in here," she commented.

"Or brought them here," the old woman behind them scorned.

"Please Nan, enough with the theatrics," Emma growled, lightly patting Spartacus's head.

The woman huffed under her breath before turning and storming out of the larder, snapping a napkin off the table to wipe her face with.

"Well, the task is done," Gilmore continued. "I suppose I should be off. Pressing matters await my attention."

Emma nodded mutely before turning and shutting the larder door tightly. It was going to take a lot to get it utterly clean of the filth those rats carried in with them. For a brief moment she debated simply burning the room and everything within it.

"Thanks," she mumbled to him before turning back to Nan. She fed the woman a quick smile before leaving herself.

She was cleaning her blade, heading back to her father, when she heard talking just around the corner. The voices were familiar. Positive it was her mother and Dairren, she altered her direction once more and headed towards them.

"Ah, there you are love," her mother smiled, reaching towards her daughter. "You remember Lady Landra, I'm sure?"

Emma nodded. Of course she did.

"You're growing into quite the beautiful young woman," Landra complimented her.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"Have you seen your father?" her mother asked.

"No, I was on my way there when Ser Gilmore found me-"

"Right, I trust that situation has been taken care of?"

Emma couldn't help but smile. She flicked a playful glance to Dairren before responding. "Quite. Nan's head exploded and my hound ate the kitchen staff."

"Oh, how amusing," her mother laughed. "Well, at least someone had a decent meal. Hopefully he left something for the rest of us."

Emma glanced away, a guilty burn rising to her cheeks again. Sure, he did, but she hadn't.

"I think I shall retire for a little bit," Landra stated, hiding a yawn behind the back of her hand.

The Teryna was about to say something, when Dairren stepped forward, nodding gently to Emma.

"Before you do mother, Emma and I have something we would like to tell you."

Emma smiled weakly, knowing this moment had to come but hating it at the same time. She just knew her mother was going to go overboard. Another Cousland wedding. She had seen what she was capable of for Fergus's wedding and she dreaded it.

The Teryna and Lady Landra shared a common smile, staring down proudly at their two children.

"We've decided to wed," he finally stated, linking his fingers with hers.

Emma waited for the outburst, the excitement, any reaction worthy of her mother. Instead the two merely smiled happily and nodded.

"That's wonderful news darling," the Teryna stated, taking her daughter's other hand into her own.

"Wonderful indeed," Landra exclaimed.

"Calm now, Landra," she laughed. "It's a long time before anything can come of this, with the men all leaving in the morning for battle. But it's good to know our children have a future together."

The two women shared yet another look. A low groan seeped out of Emma's lips. She could see the wheels a-turning already.

"Come, Dairren," Landra suggested. "Let's head to the study. We can discuss details."

"Ah, the details," he laughed. He gave another soft glance to Emma before following after his mother.

"Your father passed by a few moments before you," the Teryna commented. "I told him you were assigned to deal with Spartacus. He only asked for you to come wish Fergus well. He'll be leaving tonight now."

"Tonight?" Emma gasped. "Why so soon?"

"Apparently the Arl's men are delayed. Your father feels it'd be best for Fergus to head to Ostagar immediately with our army. Your father and Arl Howe will leave when his troops arrive."

"We should go see him off then."

The two walked in silence, Emma striving with difficulty to ignore the pointed glances her mother kept feeding her.

Finally, she could hear the sound of her brother and father speaking in low tones in his room. As she entered, they both glanced up, smiling bravely.

"Ah pup," her father started. "I've been waiting for you to come see me. I'll be leaving you in charge of the estate while your brother and I are gone. It's not a light task, but I have faith you'll do well."

"Yes father."

"So you should be off to bed. It'll certainly be an early start in the morning. Fergus will be leaving immediately, the Arl and I within the next day. And Ser Gilmore will be taking leave as well. So I trust you to do your best. You know what they say about mice when the cats are away."

She smiled at her father's statement. It was something he said often.

Reaching for her brother, she let him draw her in for a tight hug.

"Be good sister. And take care of mother."

She nodded into his chest. "Be safe Fergus."

He placed a light kiss on the top of her head before sending her on her way. She took the time to glance back at her family once more, the last chance she'd have to see them all together and happy for a while, before continuing on into her bedroom.

-oOo-

She awoke abruptly to Spartacus growling softly under his breath, a few barks lashing out in between. Emma pushed herself up, wiping the sleep away from her eyes. What was with all the ruckus? Even in the distance, she could hear… was that yelling? Suddenly alert, she pushed off the bed and threw on her chainmail set. As she was strapping her blades to her back, she heard pounding on the door. Spartacus pushed another step forward, his lips reared angrily over his teeth, showing his fangs. This couldn't be good.

Before she could take another step, her door flung open, a sobbing man staggering into her room, blood streaking from his face.

"My lady!" he shouted, reaching out to her. "Help us! The castle is under attack!"

She swept over to him just as he collapsed, a wooden shaft protruding from his back. His glossed over eyes rolled sickly to the back of his head, his skin void of any color. She caught the unmistakable of someone plucking a bow with an arrow. Gasping, she tucked her body down next to the fallen man and rolled across the floor. Spartacus leapt through the air, his teeth gnashing just as she rose to her feet. The archer fell, his voice gurgling as he choked on his own blood.

"Get her!" someone shouted from the hall. Immediately she drew her blades and lunged out into the hall, stabbing the first man through the neck. His warm blood splashed across her face, scalding as it dripped. Undeterred, she pushed harder, spinning in time to lay open another, dodging to the side before he fell on her. She remained on the move, refusing to remain in one spot too long. Spinning on her knees, her hands tightened on each hilt as she swung out, the blades biting into the back of their thighs. With deafening cries of pain, both stumbled to the ground. Without another breath, she drove both home, each blade slicing through the men's chests. Their armor was weak, which was a benefit to her.

Finally, the hall fell silent, five men sprawled across the ground, staring blankly at the ceiling. She had thought she'd feel sick the first time she actually killed a man, but oddly she found she felt nothing. These men had broken through her families gates and murdered the men they had promised to protect. Hell itself would not stop her from slaughtering each and every last one of them.

"Emma!" her mother's voice rang out through the halls. "Are you alright?"

She snapped her attention to the far door, noting that her mother seemed otherwise unharmed. Not even a drop of blood staining her armor she was clad in.

"I'm fine, mother."

"I heard screams and there were men in the halls. So I barred the door. Have you seen the shields, these are Howe's men! What's going on?"

"I don't know," Emma answered with a shake of her head, "but we need to get out of here."

"Have you seen your father? He never came to bed."

The words struck a chord of fear through her heart. No, she had to be realistic. If these were Howe's men, he would have gone for her father first. Rid himself of the largest threat. "Mother, we have to face the fact that he might be dead already."

"No," her mother shouted shrilly. "I won't believe that. We must find him!"

It was the door in front of her that she was most terrified of opening. Her father was a seasoned soldier. He would know how to take care of themselves. But with Fergus gone, that left his beautiful wife and son alone.

Taking a deep breath, she whispered, "We should check on Oriana and Oren, as well."

"Andraste's mercy!" her mother cried, apparently making the connection herself, "What if the soldier's went into your brother's room first! Hurry, we must check on them. Then we'll find your father."

Emma crept towards the door, noticing how her hand shook as she reached for the handle. She clenched her fingers into a fist. She must be strong. This was the evil side of war. She had to learn to deal with it. Push the emotions out of the way and do what needs to be done.

With that last thought, she pushed open the door, staring at the mass of bodies that lay before them. Howe had certainly gone after the largest threats first, Fergus and Bryce. And when they hadn't found Fergus…

"No!" her mother shouted. "My little Oren! What manner of fiend slaughters innocence?"

In a calm and cold voice, Emma said, "I'll make them pay, Mother. I promise you that."

"Howe is not even taking hostages, he means to kill all of us! Poor Fergus. Let's go, I don't want to see this."

Emma bent low and placed a gentle kiss against Oren's sweet little face and touched Oriana's hand before rising, a grim look set upon her face. They left the room and Emma shut the door behind them, hoping no one would see them until they returned to take care of the bodies.

They crossed into the next hall and Emma's eyes went immediately to the guest rooms. Bile crept into her throat at the sight of the popped door. And even in the dark, she saw the rivulet of blood streaming out towards the hall.

Needing to know completely, she nudged the door open with the hilt of her blade, grimacing at the creak of the door. There, on the floor lay both Lady Landra and Dairren, both savagely pinned by large blades.

"Oh my dear Landra," the Teryna whispered, "I am so sorry. If she hadn't come to me, if she hadn't been here…"

Emma seemed unable to pull her eyes away from Dairren's lifeless form. Only hours ago they had been together, announcing their news to their mothers. Now, nothing. Fresh tears sprung to her eyes but she forced them back, reminding herself once more that she must be strong. Men would not stand around weeping on a battlefield and neither would she.

"Emma," her mother whispered from the hall. "We must press forwards. I know it hurts to see, but we can't fall to pieces now."

Once again she lowered down to one knee and touched his soft red hair, brushing it back from his eyes. Leaving it at that, she rose and left for her mother. The two bolted down to the lower levels, shocked by the sudden deteriorating state of the castle.

"Can you hear the fighting?" her mother questioned. "Howe's men must be everywhere."

Emma nodded, her hand tightening on her hilt, only wishing to visit vengeance on them. "Then we should take the fight to them."

"Don't be foolish, you would throw your life away? The front gates, that's where your father must be."

"Mother, we can't just let Howe win."

"Listen darling, we haven't much time. If we can't find your father, you must get out of here alive. Without you and Fergus the entire Cousland line ends here. If Howe is inside, they must already control the castle. We must use the servant's entry in the larder to escape. Do you hear me?"

"No. I can't do that. I want Howe dead. He must pay for everything he's done here tonight," her voice remained calm but she could feel the last vestiges of it slipping from her. "Oren, Oriana," her voice broke at the next name, "Dairren."

"Then survive, and visit vengeance upon him," her mother concluded, before storming forwards once more, her mace glinting in the light. Sighing, Emma followed behind her.

They had finally reached the main levels when another of their soldiers came running up to them, heaving for breath. "The castle has fallen! I'm getting out of here!"

Emma stood in his way just before he attempted to bolt. "Don't be a coward! Stand and fight!"

He looked sick, but finally nodded. "Yes my lady! Here… here they come!"

A group of Howe's soldiers suddenly stormed into the opening, their blades and bows raised. The Teryna bellowed out a war cry unlike any Emma had heard before and rushed forward, her mace smashing into them before they could even realize what was happening. Utilizing the training she had gained through her years, she sank into the shadows and approached the men from behind. While her mother whittled them down, Emma struck from behind, driving her blades deep into their backs.

Before long, another group of five men lay dead at their feet.

"I had heard of your prowess, my lady," the soldier admired. "But never had I seen anything like it."

Emma acknowledged the compliment with a quiet thanks before pointing the next door out to her mother.

"Good thinking," her mother whispered. "Take my key. The family blade cannot fall in Howe's hands. It should sever his treacherous head."

Her mother dropped the key into Emma's outstretched hand and she unlocked it, trying her hardest to ignore the bodies of the guards strewn across. Howe's men had already made it this far, apparently. But the treasury looked unopened. With luck, everything would still be there.

She crept into the room, her ears perked for any foreign sounds. But there was nothing. Just the eerie silence that fell after a battle. She unlocked the door, grateful to find the family sword still resting within its safeguard.

"Good," her mother said. "Take it dear. It will do you a greater service then me."

With a nod, she reached out and took the blade into her own hands, a surge of priding threading through her. This was her family's legacy. She would not let them down. Sliding it through her belt, she turned to her mother who also held out the Highever shield.

"And this darling. Make good use of it."

Feeling a little weighed down, she slipped it over her back, but made sure her blades were still accessible.

"Let's go."

Her mother nodded and began to lead her from the room. They made it to the main hall without any consequence, but the moment they stepped within, they both saw a great battle already waging, Ser Gilmore wading through the center, hacking any that stepped in his way. Emma couldn't help but admire him.

Following after her mother, the two Cousland's dove into battle. More familiar with her daggers, Emma fought with them, beginning to enjoy the feel of spilling the traitor's blood. Every time they struck out at her, she was simply not where they last saw her. She moved through the shadows, hiding and striking at the most opportune moment. She struck with every talent she had ever learned and it served her well.

Finally when all the enemies lay still and broken, Ser Gilmore turned to the remaining guards and ordered them back to the gate. "Keep those bastards out as long as you can!"

He then turned to them with a grim look set upon his face, "Your ladyship, your lady, you're both alive. I was certain Howe's men had gotten through."

"Then did get through Gilmore," Emma informed him. "Everyone is dead."

"They killed Oriana and Oren," her mother continued. "I still can't believe it… Dairren and Lady Landra as well. Are you injured?"

"Maker's breath," he sighed with a shake of his head. "Don't worry about me, your ladyship. I simply thank the Maker you two are alive. When I found out what was happening I did all I could to keep them out. If you've another way out of the castle, use it quickly!"

"What of Bryce?" the Teryna gasped. "Have you seen him?"

"The last I saw the Teryn, he was badly injured. I tried to convince him to leave but he was determined to find you. I believe he went to the servants exit searching for you."

"Thank you," Emma managed to get out before her mother pulled her away, "Maker watch over you Gilmore."

"Maker, watch over us all," he said before running back to the gates to hold them.

They snuck out of the main hall, scouting each corridor before finally taking it. It wasn't long before the servant's passage lay before them. Emma had noticed a thick trail of blood leading in, but hadn't said anything for her mother's sanity. If her father had truly come through here, it was not in a healthy condition.

Emma once again ignored the bodies of their servants, her eyes trailing the door. She was pretty certain there was more blood wiped just against the wall.

She pushed open the final door and gasped. Upon hearing her, her mother stepped around her, her fingers flying to her lips.

"There you both are, I was…" the Teryn began.

"Bryce!"

"Father!"

"…wondering when you'd get here."

"Makers blood what's happening, you're bleeding!" her mother exclaimed rushing to his side.

"Howe's men, found me first… Almost did me in right there."

"We need to get you out of here. Somewhere safe," Emma announced, still struggling against the panic that was snaking its way through her body.

"I… I won't survive the standing, I think."

"No," she said with a shake of her head, pushing back the tears that threatened to spill over her porcelain cheeks. Her father's blood seeped into her leggings, pooling around her. There was so much! "You'll be fine," she smiled at him weakly, knowing the futility in what she was saying.

"Ah, my darling girl, if only will could make it so"

"Don't speak like that," she whispered to him, feeling once more like the little girl he had sat on his lap, once upon a time. She had believed once he was indestructible. And then, in the matter of one night, her whole world came crashing down around her.

"Once Howe's men break through the gate, they'll find us. We should go!" her mother insisted, reaching down to pull him to his feet. He weakly pushed her hands away.

"Someone… must reach Fergus… tell him what has happened."

"Father," Emma whispered. "You can tell him yourself, just let us help you."

"I… wish I could go…"

"Bryce, no, the servant's passage is right here. We can go, find you healing magic."

"The castle is surrounded, I won't make it," he grumbled to them, his hand clutching tighter at the wound laying open his side. "You two must go. Fergus must be found. The story of what… happened here tonight… must be told."

"Father-"

"Hush, Emma," he barked gently. "Listen to me. You must be brave. Get your mother safely from this place and find Fergus."

Gasping, he doubled over his wound, his eyes tightening with pain.

"Go," the Teryna said to Emma, taking her hands into her own.

"What?"

"Go. My place is with your father. You two are the only ones that matter now. Fergus needs to know, your father is right."

"Mother!" Emma gasped. "I _cannot_ just abandon you and father."

"You will do as you're told," her mother stated forcibly. "Do not look back, do not come back for us. Go. You will live. I would only slow you down."

"Eleanor!" her father gasped.

"Hush Bryce. I will kill every bastard that walks through the door. But I won't abandon you. This is where I'm supposed to be. Now, Emma, go!"

Emma rose slowly, a little confused as to which direction to take. She gasped, glancing back at the sudden pounding on the door.

"Go!" her father ordered, true fear lighting his eyes for his daughter's welfare. "Please pup. Go! You must!"

Knowing only death would come of her staying, she dove towards the servant's passage and slid the door shut behind her.

From a tiny sliver of space, she watched as Arl Howe sauntered into the room, a disgusting look twisting his face. She'd never seen him like that before, and she'd known him her entire life.

"Where is she?" she heard him demand.

"Somewhere you'll never get your hands on her," her mother stated proudly before drawing her weapon and rising to her feet, planting herself between Bryce and Howe.

"How little you know," the Arl sneered.

Her mother swung her arm around, her battle cry ringing through Emma's ears. She watched in horror as three of the Arl's guards lunged forward. Like a unit, one blocked her blow, the other yanking the Arl out of the way, the third driving his blade up through her belly.

Emma clamped a hand over her mouth, silencing her cries as she watched her mother's eyes fade and she slumped to the ground next to her husband. Sometime in their small period of banter, he had already passed.

"Find her!" Howe barked, ordering his men around. "This isn't finished until every last Cousland lays dead at my feet. She's here somewhere, do not disappoint me."

Before any spotted the passage, she turned and ran as fast as she could through the absolute abyss of darkness, her quiet sobs chasing her the entire way. She needed something familiar, somewhere safe. She needed Fergus. He was the only thought on her mind as she tripped over uneven ground, staggered against the wall, and slipped on rocks. But finally she was free, the night air refreshing. Praying not to be seen, she turned and bolted for the tree line nearby, hoping with all her might it would be enough to keep her hidden.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Her feet were sore, her back ached, and her head was pounding with what had to be the largest migraine she had ever suffered. She suspected it mainly had to do with the events of the night before, along with the fact that she hadn't even remotely paused since leaving Highever estate. She _had _to get as far from Highever as possible and get to Ostagar. That was the only beacon in her mind. Ostagar. Fergus. Her father's armies. If she could just get there, everything else would be alright. She wouldn't be alone anymore.

Aside from the physical pains, she felt entirely numb. Her mind refused to absorb everything that had happened. She couldn't imagine returning to Highever and never seeing her parents again. What was worse was the worry of what would happen to her parent's… bodies. Neither Fergus nor she was there to take care of them. And she highly doubted Howe would show them the respect necessary.

She had only stopped to find that she had to cross through the Bannorn, into the Hinterlands, through to the edge of the Kocari Wilds. It was taking too long. She had gone through the West Hills as a sure way to keep away from any eyes Howe might have. She knew he would still be searching for her. He could not leave any witnesses alive, and that's what she was.

The sound of a wagon in the distance spun her around. Hope spurred within her as she limped towards the sound.

She cleared the bush covering she'd been using and stumbled over to him.

The small man seemed shocked to see her, his eyes trailing her blood encrusted armor.

"You there," she paused. She had nothing on her possession to even pay him if he agreed to help her. Grimacing, she pushed forward, "What direction are you heading in?"

"South," he told her, watching her wearily. "Towards Lothering."

Her father had always made sure she knew her geography. And she knew that Lothering was only a day's walk from Ostagar.

"Please," she begged him. "I haven't slept nor ate in a day. Would you allow me to travel with you?"

She didn't like that he'd be taking the open roads, what option did he have with his mule? But he had food, water, and supplies. Perhaps he would trade her, the weapons she carried were quite valuable.

"Of course, my lady."

She winced, glancing back to ensure there was no one nearby to hear that.

"Just Emma," she told him. "And thank you."

He lightly whipped the mule once more and the tiny little party started off again.

"My name is Tegrin."

"Thank you again."

The two continued in silence, the old dwarf shooting her cautious glances along the way. Just as she was getting touchy and about to demand what his problem was when he stopped the caravan and took her hand into his, leading her around the back.

"Go on," he nudged her.

"Go on where?"

"The wagon will fit you. You look as though you need some sleep."

_Sleep_, the word echoed through her head. She was going on approximately thirty hours without any and her body was feeling it. Especially after all the previous nights events.

Without another word she crawled into the wagon, her entire body relaxing for the first time the moment she seated herself. It took a few moments for her to grow comfortable, a sudden ache in the shape of her mabari settling into her. She had left him in Highever, having forgotten all about him in the wake of her parent's death. And she missed him dearly. Pushing him from her thoughts, she tipped her head back against the wooden shafts and shut her eyes, taking full advantage of the opportunity to rest.

She pictured drifting off, but to no avail. The creek of the wheels, the jerk of the mule, and the soft singing of Tegrin kept her awake. Not to mention the thousands of different thoughts plaguing her mind, primarily how she planned on slaughtering Howe. Seconds drew into minutes and minutes into hours and she was still dwelling on those thoughts. She longed for sleep, but it seemed impossible. Every moment of blissful ignorance, she was assaulted by her mother's final scream, her father's gasps for air.

She felt the wagon shift its weight as Tegrin suddenly pushed back the curtain. Sunlight streamed in and with a groan, she shielded her eyes.

"I can see Lothering off in the distance. We should be there within an hour," he informed her gently.

She nodded mutely, her eyes still shut as she attempted the last vestiges of sleep.

"My lady," he started once more. This time she opened her eyes and turned a steely glare towards him.

"My apologies, but you really should eat something."

He pressed an apple into her hand. She found her attention turning down to it, her stomach not even remotely acknowledging the food she held in her hand.

She closed her eyes once more, this time actually drifting off.

Distantly she was aware that she had started dreaming. The wails of the innocent called out to her, her mother's piteous cries ringing through her ears. It was to Tegrin shaking her that she awoke.

"You were having a nightmare," he told her, his eyes worried as he watched her.

She licked her lips and pressed the palm of her hand against her eyes. She had a feeling that was something she'd just have to get used to.

"We've arrived," he continued to speak. With a nod, she pushed off the wagon and slipped out, noting that dusk was approaching once more.

Lothering seemed… desolate, she realized. Though she was gazing upon it from afar, she could see the hundreds of expatriates pouring into the town, towing everything they could carry with them. She'd heard her brother and father talk about the onslaught of Darkspawn. These people must have lost their homes already. Lothering had turned into a refugee haven.

"Thank you Tegrin," she whispered, unable to glance away from the torrents of people flooding the town. "Will you be alright here?"

"Yes, my lady."

She fed him another look. "How did you know who I was?"

"You are wearing the sigil of the Cousland family," he informed her shyly, pointing at the shield and sword strapped to her back.

"Right," she grimaced. She had forgotten all about that. But there was no way she was giving up her family weapons.

"Where will you head from here?" he questioned.

She fed him a watery smile before turning and starting down a path.

"My lady!" he cried out, chasing her down quickly, his little dwarven legs struggling to keep up with her. "There are darkspawn everywhere! You cannot go wondering off on your own down here, it's dangerous!"

"Thank you Tegrin. But I must be off."

"But my lady-"

"You shouldn't leave your wares unattended. Especially not in a place like this. They'll be stolen quicker than you can curse your ancestors."

He glanced back to his caravan, before whipping back around to her. "Good luck, my lady."

"And to you, Tegrin."

She turned back towards the path and continued on.

Everything seemed darker here, much more desperate. At every twig snapping, or bush rustling, she twitched, afraid of what was possibly hiding within. She'd never fought darkspawn before, only humans. And even then she'd never truly been tested. She found herself clutching the hilt of her father's blade tightly, using it as a method of patience and relaxation. She could do this. She had to. Fergus had to be alerted.

The small bit of rest she'd managed in the wagon had helped, but only slightly. Within a few hours she was staggering once more, her strength completely waned. She suddenly found herself wishing she'd eaten that apple he'd given her. Now her stomach was absolutely ravenous.

She was near collapsing when finally, in the distance she caught site of the luminous fortress, Ostagar. She knew of the history, knew how it was built as a method to defend the north lands from the Chasind Wilders, but had been unmanned for centuries. Now it was in use once more, its glory being restored one inch at a time. She'd never seen something so beautiful in her life beautiful.

But now her thoughts were all on Fergus. He was in there somewhere, with no idea that his entire family had been slaughtered. And she was the one that would have to break that news to him. Her heart ached with that knowledge.

She pressed onwards until she finally stood before the bridge, connecting the fortress to the land. Quickly, she crossed, praying to the Maker that none would stop and question her. Thankfully none did.

The moment she was within the fortress, she was struck with awe. Every direction she looked, there were men sharpening their blades, shining their armor, practicing with their companions. They were preparing for war. She could feel the excitement in the air.

She walked the entire grounds, all the while her eyes roaming for her brother but finding nothing. She'd even braved stopping a few of the men and asking after him but none seemed to even know who he was. She didn't find that encouraging. What if Howe had somehow managed to deal with Fergus already? Who knew how far his people reached? Frightened, she started wandering faster, calling his name now and then, but there was no answer. People fed her worried glances, obvious interest as to who she was, but she ignored the pointed stares.

Eventually she found herself in an empty opening, leaning against an abandoned chest, her head resting low against her knees. Before she even realized what was happening, tears began sliding down her cheeks.

She felt so alone, it was unbearable.

Her shoulders were shaking with sobs when she heard someone clear their throat next to her.

-oOo-

Alistair

Was that… someone crying? He pushed the mage aside, muttering a quick comment about the reverend mother wishing to speak with him, and followed the sound. Sure enough, there across the opening was a girl, huddled in a ball, crying against a chest. She lifted her head for a brief moment to swipe some tears away and his breath caught in his throat. He'd never seen anything so beautiful in his life, even with her dirt streaked face.

"Miss?" he posed, slowly stepping closer to her.

A low hiccup squeaked from her mouth as she snapped up, her vividly, and watery, blue eyes pinning him through his chest.

"Miss, do you need any help?"

His eyes fell on her armor and weaponry. This was no common woman. And was that… blood staining her gear? Where had she come from? And who was she? These were only the two most prominent questions fluttering through his mind.

She rose to her feet, wiping away the tears.

He took another step forward, his hand extended towards her. "If you're in trouble, I can help, if you'd let me."

But with his step, she matched it backwards, keeping a certain distance between them.

"I won't hurt you," he said.

There was something fragile about her.

"What's your name?" he was hoping he'd be able to make her talk.

She brushed a lock of knotted obsidian hair behind her ear. "Emma," she finally responded in a hoarse voice.

"Well Emma, it's nice to meet you. My name is Alistair."

She sucked in her bottom lip, shooting a glance back over her shoulder, her body tensed as though she intended to bolt.

"Wait," he suggested. "Please, are you alright? Is there something you need help with?"

She turned those remarkably bright eyes back towards him. He couldn't help but notice how the welled with tears once more.

"Do you know Fergus?" she finally asked softly, a slight edge of hope to her words.

"Fergus…" he trailed off. "I need a little more information than that. If you haven't noticed, there are a lot of men here," he smiled, trying for a joke. Apparently it wasn't as appreciated as he'd imagine it would be.

She seemed to be struggling with something, her face twisting into knots as she debated something. Finally, she took a tentative step to him, whispering so quietly he had to strain to hear it. "Cousland."

"Oh," he responded happily. "Sure."

Her face lit up with his answer. He only wished he could always see it that way.

"Where can I find him?" she suddenly demanded, leaping forward, her hands reaching for his armor.

Clearing his throat, Alistair extracted the obviously pained woman from him and stepped back, chuckling under his breath.

"I'm sorry, how do you know him?"

"He's my brother," she suddenly spoke animatedly, as though she'd been waiting all day for this news.

"You're a Cousland?" he asked in awe, finally taking the time to analyze her armory. Sure enough, she wore their sigil. "Well, I'm sorry Emma, but I believe Fergus was sent out into the wilds a day back, scouting for the battle."

"What?" she gasped, slumping away from him.

Apparently this was not the news she'd been hoping for.

"Emma, why don't you come with me? I know someone who might be able to help you with whatever is wrong. His name is Duncan and he's actually just arrived from Highever-"

"No!" she shouted, jumping away. "No, please!"

"Alright, alright," he placated her. "Why don't you tell me what's wrong?"

She shook her head. "Please, don't tell anyone I was here. I just need to find my brother."

"Well, he won't be returning to us until after the battle."

And then those tears from earlier spilled over her cheeks once more. It broke his heart to see this woman in so much pain and he didn't even know the cause. She glanced over his shoulder, her face paling from something he couldn't see.

"Emma," he tried once more, pausing to see what it was that had frightened her over his shoulder. There in the distance was one of the newest Grey Warden recruits Duncan had brought back with him. Ser Gilmore he believed his name was.

When he turned back in attempt to calm her once more, he found her gone. Just like that, vanished from his sights within a split second.

"Creepy," he muttered before turning towards the recruit.

"Ser Gilmore."

"Alistair, Duncan sent me to fetch you."

"Good," he nodded. "I think there is something he and I need to discuss."

She had begged him not to tell anyone she was here, but the woman was obviously in distress and for some reason he knew he had to help her.

The two walked in silence. He'd met the recruit a little earlier but he'd seemed a little sullen himself.

"Duncan," Alistair acknowledged him, seating himself across the fire, "How was the trip?"

Duncan glanced across the fire at Ser Gilmore and grimaced. ""It was not an easy acquisition Alistair."

"How so?" he asked, his curiosity spiraling within him. He knew Gilmore came from the Cousland estate, Duncan's previous information had confirmed that. But that woman's reaction to him was intriguing.

"The Cousland estate has been sacked by Arl Howe. Both the Teryn and Teryna were killed in the effort. It's been assumed the daughter as well. The son, Fergus, was here, but has no idea of what's happened."

Ice slid in through the pit of his stomach as he listened to Duncan's words. That would certainly explain her troubles.

Alistair couldn't help but notice that Gilmore had risen from his seat and stood in front of the fire, staring into it.

"I shouldn't have let them chase after the Teryn. I should have kept her with us, she would have been safe. Duncan she could have come with us."

"There is no point dwelling on the past," Duncan informed him. "We can only do our best with the information provided at the time."

Alistair debated informing them she was here. She had begged him not to, but was that for the best?

Finally, he took a deep breath and glanced over at Duncan. "The youngest, was her name Emma?"

Gilmore's slumping of his shoulders was answer enough for him.

"She's not dead," he stated then.

The recruit spun, almost losing his footing and stumbling into the bonfire.

"How do you know?" he demanded, the determination in his eyes unmistakable.

"She's here, searching for Fergus. My guess would be to inform him of what happened."

"That would explain why there's been no reports of her death. She must have escaped." Duncan mentioned.

Alistair sat back and listened as Gilmore and Duncan pondered her appearance here and what that meant for Highever. With both the Cousland children alive, Howe had no true claim to the position, they did. But it wasn't her position he was musing as he sat there and listened. It was her bright blue eyes, stricken with pain.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Emma

It seemed colder here without the balmy breeze from the sea. She tucked her arms into her chest as tightly as possible, but continued to press on. That man, Alistair, had commented that Fergus was scouting out in the Wilds. So that's where she was, following any tracks she could find. She hadn't a clue if she was following the right one, but it was bound to lead her somewhere. And it was better than simply sitting around waiting for him to show up, wherever that might be.

Everywhere she looked there were trees, hills, and swamp, none of which would help her find him. Sighing with frustration, she lowered down onto a rock and tucked her knees into her chest, shivering from the damned cold. How had her life taken such a turn? Everything had been so perfect before. She'd had her family and a future with Dairren. All of which was now gone. And now she was on some wild goose chase in darkspawn infested Wilds.

A low grunt sounded on the other side of the rock. She turned, surprised to find an injured man belly crawling towards her. Pushing forward, she pushed back a clump of bushes and stared down at a lump of a man, lacerations covering his entire body.

"Help… me," he groaned. "Please… I…"

"I'm sorry," she crooned over him, "I don't have anything here to help you with."

She glanced around, searching for anything that might assist him. His wounds needed bandaging, but the only thing she had was her own clothes. With a disgruntled sigh, she quickly unstrapped her armor and placed it on the ground next to her before tearing the bottom of her shirt into strips. She wrapped as much of them as she could.

"What happened?" she asked softly.

"We were attacked," he spoke in a clearer voice. "Darkspawn came from everywhere. I just barely got away."

"Were there others?" Emma asked in a quiet voice. For all she knew, this man had been with Fergus.

"Yes," he murmured, "But I don't know where they went. I think… I think the darkspawn got them."

"The ones with you," she pressed. "Their names, tell me their names."

"I don't remember them all," he said. "The King put us together at the last minute. All I know is one was from Denerim, one from Redcliffe, and the other I think from Highever."

The ground suddenly swam beneath her. She staggered back, the feel of someone's hands suddenly at her back the only things keeping her straight. She hadn't even heard anyone approach from behind.

"You don't remember their names? How could you not remember their names?"

"Calm down," she heard someone whisper behind her. "He's taken a bit of a knock to the head. I'm sure it'll come back to him. Besides, from the sounds of it, it doesn't matter, if he was the only one to make it back-"

She tore out of their grip with a hiss, stomping over to the edge of the swamp water. She couldn't believe it, she wouldn't. Not Fergus. If there was any in Highever more skilled with a blade than she, it was her brother.

From the sounds behind her, she knew the soldier was moving on and a smaller group was moving around behind her.

"If they were attacked by darkspawn, how do we know we won't fall?"

She tuned out the bickering of the men behind her. She couldn't care less about their woes. She had her own to worry about. She stared out over the swamp, sending another prayer to the Maker, knowing really, it wouldn't help but beyond all reason, it was the only option left to her. Somewhere out here was Fergus. She _needed_ to find him. She couldn't lose him as well.

"Emma," she heard a familiar voice behind her, an armored hand falling gently on her shoulder. She had seen him earlier that day, heading towards Alistair. When she had seen him, she just couldn't believe her eyes. He was another she had thought dead. And yet, here he was, at Ostagar.

"Ser Gilmore," she acknowledged him as she turned, fighting against the quivering of her bottom lip. She didn't want to stand here talking to him, she wanted to be out there, searching for her brother.

"I thought…" he whispered, his hands suddenly pulling her into his chest. They had never been so close before, but it was shocking how extreme events can change one's look upon life. "I thought you were dead."

"No," she mumbled into his gear. "I managed to escape just before-" she broke off. She couldn't finish the sentence, didn't want to see the scene unfold once more before her eyes.

"Thank the Maker. At least someone made it out."

Nodding mutely, she pulled away and turned back towards the swamp.

"Is she alright?" she caught another man ask.

From a quick peek over her shoulder, it was the same one from earlier in the evening. Alistair. Her eyes roamed over him, taking in the short blonde hair, warm brown eyes, and sharp jaw line. For the first time she realized just how massive this man was, towering over Gilmore by at least a head, which put him two heads above her. His armor was standard; nothing entirely unique about it, but it fit him well, showing off his trim waist and large swell of a chest. But just as quickly her analysis was over and she was back to staring out over the swamp.

"I think so," Gilmore announced.

"Good. Because what the hell were you thinking?" the man suddenly began raging. "Are you trying to get yourself killed? Wandering around in the Wilds by yourself? You do know we're in a Blight right? And that darkspawn have been reported in almost every inch of these forests?"

She couldn't help but struggle with a tiny smile. He sounded just like Fergus, always worrying about her.

"I can take care of myself," she mumbled quietly.

And to make point of what she'd just said, she crossed the short distance to where the man had been lying and reattached her armor. She had managed to take two steps away from them when that large man swept over her and latched onto her arm, spinning her back around.

"Just what do you think you're doing?"

She glanced down at his hand, eyeing it until he relinquished his hold. Their gazes met a moment later and she couldn't help but notice the vibrant blush coloring his cheeks.

"I'm going to find my brother."

"You can't," he stated.

"And just why not?"

"My lady," Gilmore tried. "Please see reason. If you wander these Wilds alone, you'll only get yourself killed."

"Look," she told the both of them. "I _need_ to find my brother. Maybe you two don't understand the weight of the situation awaiting me back home-"

"We know," Alistair said, holding up his hand for silence the moment Gilmore prepared to respond. "I told you earlier, Duncan was there as well. He's the reason Gilmore is here, as a Grey Warden recruit."

Her eyes jumped over to Gilmore. "A Grey Warden?"

"Look, just travel with us. We'll keep an eye out for your brother while we're here. This way you don't die, but can still search the Wilds for him."

She didn't like that idea at all. She wanted the freedom to go as she pleased. If a trail suddenly turned south, she wanted the ability to follow it without confirming it with someone else. But from the steeled look to both men's eyes, one she had seen before with her father, she knew there would be no arguing with them.

When at first she didn't respond, Gilmore stepped forward, silently pleading with her. When that didn't work, he responded to begging.

"Please, my lady. I couldn't bear it now if something did happen to you. You and Fergus are all that remains. Let us protect you."

She caught a wince from Alistair and she couldn't help but smirk. The man had only known her for a few hours and apparently already knew her better than one of her father's men, someone she had grown up around. She took a cleansing breath, pushing past Gilmore's statement before finally nodding.

"Good. Now that that's settled, we can return to our regular schedule of ritual dismemberment."

With wide eyes, Emma stared up at this odd man, shocked by the comment.

"What?" he asked innocently.

She didn't answer, merely turned and began in the direction she had originally been tracking. The sound of armored feet behind her told her she really wasn't alone. It was a strange feeling after everything she had been through. The past few days had been the loneliest of her life, this was refreshing. And within a few moments she began to feel the stress in her shoulders lower.

The clink of armor grew louder as someone sped up towards her. She glanced over, expecting Gilmore, but shocked to find it was the other.

"Here," he said to her, extending his reach, offering some sort of granola. "You look like you could use something to eat. When we get back to Ostagar tonight, I'll make sure you get a full meal."

She wheeled around, the blood draining from her face. "Ostagar?"

"Well, yes," he nodded. "That's where we are stationed right now."

For some reason that idea made her nervous. But she took the granola and began nibbling on it, her stomach snarling in happiness.

"I'm sorry if I scared you earlier," he finally said, breaking the small silence they had fallen into.

"I wasn't scared," she automatically denied.

He smiled gently down on her as though. She had to admit, he had a nice smile. But the moment that thought entered her mind, she banished it and refocused her attention on the land.

Irritation was growing in her, fueled by the disappearing tracks. Either she was going in the wrong direction, or… no, she didn't want to think it.

"Who are the other two?" she finally asked.

"A knight from Redcliffe and a rogue from Denerim. Both are Grey Warden recruits like your Ser Gilmore. The knight is Jory, the rogue Daveth."

"I hadn't even known we had a Grey Warden visiting."

And yet for some reason, she thought on the fact that her father had requested her presence in the main hall. Ser Gilmore had also left quickly after dealing with the larder, stating 'pressing matters to deal with'. Had he been auditioning while she'd been off telling her mother of her engagement to Dairren?

She opened her mouth to make a comment when suddenly Daveth and Jory were bolting back to them, the looks on their face needing no explanation.

"And here we go," Alistair grumbled, unsheathing his sword.

The putrid scent seemed to come first before the actual attack. She couldn't imagine them being able to sneak up anyone, they way they smelled. It was like rotting corpses mixed with a particular scent mabari's developed after… well an exciting romp in the pen together.

Preparing for the onslaught, she eased back into the shadows, amused when all the men circled, searching for her. The moment Alistair attacked the first, she leapt out at it and drove her daggers home, the steel biting deep into its back. As it fell, she tore the blade from him and spun, tasting another one as it fell. One by one they attacked, but while the darkspawn's blades remained pure, theirs were each stained with crimson blood. Finally, when at least a dozen lay at their feet, the party backed away, wiping off their blades and sheathing them.

"Maker's breath," Alistair laughed as he dropped down next to the corpses extracting three vials of blood. She couldn't help but notice there were three recruits as well. Coincidence? "What did they feed you? I've never seen someone fight like that."

Emma ducked her head, straining madly to ignore the heat of blood rushing through her cheeks.

"I think more than half of these are yours."

Shrugging, she pulled away as he whipped out a.

"Which way from here?" Gilmore suddenly asked.

He sidled up next to him and extended out one half of the map. "I think we're here. The cache is north. I think this path right here will lead us to it."

"Alright then, onwards," they motioned everyone forward, her stumbling behind them.

Once again Daveth and Jory scouted ahead, leaving the others behind. From beneath lowered lashes she watched the Junior Warden, recognizing something familiar about him, as though she had met him before.

"So those vials you just extracted…"

"Oh, no, no, no," he teased, wagging an armored finger at her. "No pumping Alistair for information now."

She felt a tiny spark of temptation rise up in her. There were, after all, so many things she could say to that. Unable to help herself, she grinned and responded in a husky voice, something uncommon for her, "Well, what else would I want to _pump_ you for?"

It amused her that this time he blushed, coughing behind his hand. "Uh, right. Well, I better go check on the other two."

As he broke into a light jog ahead of her, she smiled once more.

-oOo-

"Well, well, what have we here? Are you a vulture, I wonder? A scavenger poking amidst a corpse whose bones have been long since cleaned? Or merely an intruder, come into these darkspawn filled wilds of mine in search of... easy prey?"

Emma turned, surprised to find a rather scantily clad woman stalking down a ramp, her dark eyes narrowed in on them.

"Hmm, what say you? Scavengers or intruder?"

"Neither," Gilmore answered. "This tower belongs to the Grey Wardens."

"Tis a tower no longer. So I ask once more, what is it you are searching for?"

"Don't answer her," Alistair warned. "She looks chasind which means there will be more."

A mirthless burst of laughter escaped her lips. "You fear barbarians will swoop down on you?"

"Yes…" he grumbled. "Swooping is bad."

"She's a witch of the wilds, she is!" Daveth suddenly shouted. "She'll turn us all into toads!"

"Shut up," Emma hissed, annoyed with his useless nattering. If she was a witch, he was going to get them all killed. And she had too much to do to die.

"You there," the woman addressed her, acknowledging her voice. "Woman do not frighten like little boys. Pray, tell me your name and I shall give you mine."

Stepping forward, Emma announced. "My name is Emma Cousland and it's a pleasure to meet you."

"Well, now," she smiled bitterly. "That is a proper greeting, even in the Wilds. You may call me Morrigan. I take it you are searching for something within that chest? Something that is here no longer?"

Truthfully, Emma had no idea what they were searching for, but it didn't seem wise to admit that to the strange woman.

"Here no longer?" Alistair demanded. "You stole it… you sneaky… witch thief!"

Emma struggled against the desire to shy away from the men. The things they said just seemed so foolish. At this rate, she'd never find Fergus. And if this woman was from the Wilds, she seemed her best chance to find him.

"How eloquent," Morrigan laughed.

"Give them back," he ordered in a deep voice.

"I will not, for it was not I who took them."

Before any others could embarrass themselves, Emma stepped forward once more. Deal with their business first and then she could deal with her. "Do you know who did?"

"Yes," she answered with a twinkle to her eye. "Twas my mother."

"Would you take us to her?"

"Now, that's a practical request," she mused. "I like you."

"I'd be careful," Alistair mumbled. "First it's, I like you, then _zap_ frog time."

"Oh Alistair," Emma groaned, shaking her head.

"Follow me," Morrigan continued. "If you please."

Emma couldn't help but notice she was the only one that took a step forward. Glancing back, the other three finally stepped into place behind her.

"Bunch of babies, really," she sighed in exasperation. "Some Grey Wardens, I swear I'm the bravest one here."

"Well," Alistair stated next to her. "I know _I'm_ counting on you to protect me."

Hearing his words, Emma let out a labored sigh before following after Morrigan.

-oOo-

It hadn't taken too long to reach their little hut. As they approached the house an older woman stepped out from within, her bright eyes watching the party as though they were something to eat.

"Greetings, mother," Morrigan said, "I bring before you four Grey Wardens who-"

"I have eyes girl," her mother insisted. "Welcome."

Knowing no others would step forward Emma did, even though she wasn't a Grey Warden. "My name is Emma. It's a pleasure to meet you."

The old woman seemed a little shocked by the manners she expressed before laughing. "Indeed. You have come for your parchments then I take it?"

She nodded.

"The wards wore off them long ago. I have protected them for you until the day you arrived searching for them."

She pulled out three golden scrolls from behind her back and handed them over.

"Thank you," Emma said, awkwardly handing them over to Alistair.

"No, thank you. Now, return to your camp and alert those in charge that the threat is greater than it appears."

Emma glanced up and gauged the old woman's reaction, nodding finally. "Sure."

"Alright, time for you to leave," Morrigan pointed towards the way they came.

"Don't be silly girl. These are your guests."

"Oh, of course. I will show you out."

Alistair groaned but followed more closely to Emma this time. She had to admit though, she was disappointed that through the adventures in the Wilds, she hadn't stumbled across Fergus. She had been praying the entire time for that. Perhaps the Maker was ignoring her as punishment for never having truly believed? Not ready to head back, she debated deviating off path to continue searching. But Alistair's words echoed through her head. And if day was dangerous, nighttime would be downright suicidal.

She dwelled on this thought until Morrigan pointed out their camp.

Without another word, a flash of light surrounded the woman and she shifted into what Emma was sure was a wolf.

"Handy trick," she mumbled as she walked with the four men back inside.

"Sure," Alistair grumbled. "If you like the smell of wet dog."

"Thanks," she said, turning towards him. "For coming with me as I searched for him."

He towered over her, staring down at a spark of warmth in his eyes. "Anytime, my lady. But you aren't leaving. I did promise you a meal."

While her stomach lurched at the idea of a full meal, the idea of Ostagar terrified her. How was she to know who was there, who to trust.

Instinctively, she backed away from the group, about to vanish into the shadows as she was prone to do, when Alistair lunged forward, his armored fingers curving over her upper arm.

"Please, Emma. I swear to you, I won't tell any of your presence here, and neither will any of the recruits. Is that understood?" he called out to them behind her.

Gilmore turned and glared at Jory and Daveth until they agreed.

"Not even the senior Grey Warden you mentioned, Duncan?" she whispered.

"I swear it. You need a good meal, and a night's rest. And not while hiding in the Wilds somewhere, fighting off darkspawn all night. Trust me to help you."

Hoping she could take him for his word, she stepped out of the shadow. His hand seemed to linger on her arm for a few seconds before finally relinquishing his grip.

"Alright," he smiled at her. "Thank you."

And then he led her into Ostagar, showing her to his tent and helping her settle in before heading back to Duncan, promising to bring her a meal soon afterwards.


	4. Chapter 4

**Thanks to everyone that's been reading! Hope you are all enjoying the story so far!**

* * *

><p>Chapter 4<p>

Alistair

_Maker_, where had she learned to fight like that? Not even the rogue from Denerim could meld into the shadows the way she could. In fact, the only other he'd seen proficient at something like that was Duncan and he'd claimed to have learned it on the streets. Immediately he'd thought of recruiting her into the Grey Wardens. He knew Duncan would approve, and it only required one more vial of blood. But he also knew she'd never go for it. One track mind, that one, and right now it was steeled on her brother, Fergus. And understandably so.

He pushed past the tent flaps, immedialtey swarmed by a group of heavily armored men. They hadn't been allowed to witness the joining, Duncan's orders.

"Well?" a few of them shouted, waiting for the information.

"One," Alistair told them, aware of the somber mood. Everyone remembered their joining, remembered the horrific dreams and uncontrollable pain.

"Which?"

"Gilmore."

"Well," one of the Wardens commented. "At least one survived. That's something at least."

The crowd dispersed, returning to their meals. He knew Emma was in his tent waiting so he grabbed a second plate and loaded it up. He was balancing them precariously when another group glanced up, and laughed.

"Hey Alistair!" one jibed. "Who's the second plate for?"

Groaning, he turned towards the Warden.

"Do you have a girl in your tent?" another laughed raucously. "Maybe a naughty little mage, or an innocent little chantry sister?"

The entire table lit up with laughter. He couldn't help stop the blazing red blush that screamed to his cheeks.

"Oh ho!" another laughed. "I think our little chantry boy does!"

He promised Emma he wouldn't tell anyone, and the fact that she was a Cousland was another reason. Having a woman in his tent, while for a male might be acceptable, it would look bad on her.

"Just bringing a dish to Duncan," he lied through his teeth, hoping his cheeks didn't give him away. "He's at the war council with the king and hasn't eaten yet."

At first he thought it would work, but one of the larger Wardens, Peter, rose from his table, a wide grin curving his lips. "Really? Because I'm almost positive that Duncan had an early dinner while you were all in the Wilds."

"Uh, maybe he wants seconds?" Alistair tried, ducking out of the tent before any could tease him further.

"Watch for some bow-leggedness tomorrow!" another voice chased him out.

Alistair stalked towards his tent, shaking his head the entire way. Quite a group they were.

"Emma?" he murmured as he slowly pushed the flap open.

He heard scrambling and the clearing of her throat before she came into view. From the red rimmed eyes and the blotchy cheeks, he guessed she'd been crying again.

"I brought you some food," he continued, ignoring the mussed hair and droopy eyes. He couldn't believe how quickly his heart leapt into his throat at the sight of her.

"Thank you," she responded in a low voice.

He handed the plate over and watched as she scooted over to the furthest corner before crossing her legs and leaning over the plate. She picked at it slowly, every now and then lifting some food to her mouth. He watched avidly. From the sunken eyes and pale skin, he guessed it'd been a few days since she had eaten.

"I know you're hungry," he chuckled under his breath. "You don't need to worry about manners in my company. No one is worse than a bunch of Grey Wardens sharing a meal together."

A weak smile curved her lips but she continued to daintily pick at her food.

"And you could sit closer to the middle you know. I promise you I don't bite."

A blush colored her cheeks, but she remained stoic. Gone was the girl who had teased him this afternoon. Gone was the confident warrior tearing through the darkspawn as though they were nothing more than parchment. In the small confines of his tent, he found her to be shy and quiet. Of course, it wasn't as though he was any better.

"You can take the bed," he commented, pointing back towards the ruffled mess. For a moment his mind dared to wander to the image of her tucked into his blankets, her long black hair fanned out over his pillow.

"Oh," her small voice came from across the tent, shattering his thoughts. "I… uh, was thinking I'd actually head back into the Wilds."

Alistair managed to take a single breath to calm himself before starting to lay into her.

"Do you have a death wish?" he growled. "Why can't you just take a night to get some sleep and let your body rest? Wandering through the pitch black Wilds is only going to get you killed."

She lowered the plate gently down onto the ground, chewing once more on her bottom lip. "Alistair, I need to find Fergus."

He didn't want to acknowledge how much he liked hearing her say his name. He wanted to focus on her stupidity.

"No," he shook his head. "Not tonight. Look at you, you're like death warmed over, you barely have any strength left. You won't do anyone any good if you die tonight searching for your brother. He's either alive and will find his way back to us, or…"

Her head snapped up. "Or what?"

He didn't want to say the words, but it seemed like she needed to hear them. "Or he's dead."

He immediately cringed at the pain that crumpled her face.

"Emma, I'm sorry."

She rose from her tiny little spot on the floor. "Thank you for the food Alistair."

"Emma, don't-"

And then she was gone, bolting out his tent flaps. Before he even managed to get to his feet and follow after her, she was gone having melted into the shadows.

"Stupid!" Alistair scolded himself. For a brief moment he debated heading into the Wilds with a small search party to find her. She was a Cousland after all, and if alerting Duncan to her presence was what it took to keep her in one spot for longer than an hour, he'd do it. But that was the moment that Gilmore and Duncan decided to return from the council, both with determination burning through their eyes.

"Alistair," Duncan approached him. "The King has assigned you and Gilmore to light the Tower of Ishal, it begins now."

"Now?" Alistair repeated. All around him, he finally noticed everyone gearing up, strapping on their armor, sheathing their blades. How oblivious he had been while distracted with the youngest Cousland. For now, she'd have to take care of herself, she was good enough at it, it seemed. He had his responsibilities as a Grey Warden to deal with now.

-oOo-

* * *

><p>Emma<p>

"I see you managed to evade your bodyguard," a voice came from the shadows behind her.

Gasping, Emma jumped back. She knew it wasn't darkspawn, obviously. But she hadn't expected any company in the Wilds whatsoever.

"I don't know who you're talking about," she answered.

The bushes parted and a silver wolf stepped from within them, her yellow eyes narrowing in on Emma.

"The tall, dim-witted one," those animal lips reared back as she spoke.

Stuttering, Emma stared down at the beast.

"My apologies," that voice came again before the wolf suddenly shifted form in front of her, melding into the young woman they had met in the woods earlier that night.

"Hello again Morrigan," Emma said blankly, completely shocked that a moment ago she had been in wolf form and had somehow managed to speak with her.

"I did not mean to startle you. I've been watching the camp. I had a suspicion you would not remain long. You are not of them."

"Of who?"

"Any of them. All of them. There is something different about you."

"Right."

Emma turned and was about to delve deeper into the Wilds when that woman's voice came again.

"You will not find him here," she said.

"Who? Alistair? I'm not looking for him."

"No, the one you _are_ searching for. He was part of a group sent out to scout before the impending battle. They did not return."

Gasping, Emma spun. "You know where Fergus is?"

"Regrettably, no. But I did take notice the group never returned. I could take you to where they were camping, if it pleases you."

"Yes!" Emma gasped, rushing towards the witch, her fingers trembling at her lips.

"What is this man to you? It seemed to me as though the dim-witted one was curious about you. Do you possess more than one suitor?"

"Suitor?" Emma laughed. "No, Fergus is my brother. As you said, he's missing. I _need_ to find him."

"This way then," Morrigan stated before turning and shifting back into a beast of the forest.

She just had to take that form, probably sensing how much a talking animal freaked her out.

It was a bit of a strain for Emma to keep up with her in her four-legged form. Every log she stumbled over, every ditch she staggered into, every branch she lurched into, Morrigan seemed to flow around as though she were a part of the Wilds. But somehow, Emma managed to keep her footing long enough to find herself in a flat camping area. All around her was strewn gear and possessions.

The wolf stalked into a shadow, strange yellow eyes changing shape as a woman walked back out.

"This is it."

Nodding, Emma dropped down and began rifling through the gear. But no matter what she tore through, there was nothing familiar. Frustration grew to an unstable level within her. She turned away, furiously blinking back the hot tears.

"There is more over here," the witch called.

Hearing her words, Emma leapt to her feet and bolted over, her breath catching in her throat when her eyes fell on a shield with the familiar heraldry of the Cousland family.

"Fergus," she whispered as she dropped to her knees.

The worst part was the bloodied dagger lying forlornly next to the shield. Fergus would _never_ be parted with his weapon. It was the first lesson they'd been taught as children. A warrior was only as good as their weapon. Beyond which, the dagger had been a gift from his wife on their wedding night. He would never _willingly _part with it. Which could only mean one thing…

And that was the one thing she didn't want to think about.

Rising, she dusted off her pants, sliding Fergus's dagger through her belt and slinging his shield around her lower arm.

"Thank you, Morrigan," she whispered desolately.

Before the woman could respond, Emma stepped into a shadow and vanished.

-oOo-

Lothering. At least the state of the town reflected her mood.

"Look alive, boys," she heard someone call out. "Another traveler heading this way."

Emma glanced up for once second, finding a group of heavily armored men rising to their feet. All around them, possessions strewn the cement, blood staining it. She knew immediately who she was dealing with and she certainly wasn't in the mood. These people were the type to take advantage of any downtrodden individuals. Their low mirthless chuckles only confirmed her thoughts. Feeding the rage fueling her, she clutched Fergus's blade and snapped her arm forward.

A hushed gasp fell over the group as their leader suddenly dropped to his knees, her dagger protruding from his eye socket.

"Any others?" she growled, reaching down to wrench the blade out. Hot blood sprayed her face before she had a chance to back away.

A few seconds passed as the men stared down at the man that was their leader, their faces pale and drawn back, their jaws slack. And then suddenly they bolted, separating into their own directions as they ran.

Snarling under her breath, she stepped into Lothering, just wishing for one moment she could leave all her woes behind. But the faces of her lost loved ones kept flashing through her mind, taunting her with last sights and last words.

"You there," a templar standing by the gate called out to her. "If you're looking for some place to rest, we're full up."

Ignoring him, she continued on. The chantry could say whatever they wanted. That didn't mean she had to listen.

For the first time ever in her life, she longed for a drink. And glancing up, like a beacon of light, there stood the local tavern. She stumbled over, her body lagging with exhaustion and practically kicked open the door, stomping over to the nearest available seat. Dozens of eyes turned to her, but she ignored them all.

"Miss?" someone asked, leaning over her table.

She glanced up to find the innkeeper staring down at her. She reached down to her belt and pulled out the shortest dagger, one she'd had since her childhood but wasn't as significant as the other two she carried, and slammed it down on the table.

"What will this get me?" she grumbled.

"Wha-"

"Melt it down, sell the silver."

His eyes skimmed over her shield. "My Lady, thank you!" he snatched up the blade. "A week stay, food and drink included."

She nodded and waved him off after ordering a meal.

All around her, people started randomly strolling by, their hurried whispers spreading word of the heraldry she carried. But thankfully within moments, the innkeeper slammed down a large mug of ale. The musky smell infused her nose. She'd smelled it before, sometimes they brought one out for her father and brother, but never her or her mother took part. Now she could care less.

Sighing, she lifted the mug to her lips and tipped it back, downing the contents in three large swallows. It was smooth down the throat and a bit of a nutty after taste. But the taste wasn't important, just the effect.

Before the meal finally came, she'd already had another two and was starting to notice a swaying of the room. With every new mug passed her way, more and more of the men began to watch her, starting to take bets on how many she could hold. They laughed and joked, even attempted to draw her into the conversation but she wasn't interested.

After her sixth mug, her stomach lurched and her mouth began to water.

"Room," she posed to the innkeeper who, with a small smile, took her by the arm and began to lead her up the stairs. Every blink, the room seemed to take a new angle, taunting her sanity with its spinning and sliding. With a groan, she balanced herself against a wall, cupping her head in her hand.

"Just a little further my lady," he whispered to her, his hands gentle as he urged her further.

Finally, there was a bed beneath her. She had no idea how it got there, or even where she was. All she knew was she couldn't keep her eyes open, no matter how hard she struggled. Days of being on the go, searching for her brother had worn her down, beyond the point she should have allowed. But she'd been so determined. Alistair had been right the entire time. With her belly full of food and drink, her exhaustion now won out as her eyelids fluttered shut and she drifted off into unconsciousness.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

-Emma-

For the entire night she was plagued with bright colorful nightmares that only seemed to continue every time she slipped back into unconsciousness. Images of her father's blood stricken face, her mother pinned through by Howe's blade, and Fergus constantly ravaged by Darkspawn, constantly beset her. She'd wake for a moment, a tiny scream always close on the tip of her lips before the ale pushed her under once more. She felt like she was swimming through an abyss of darkness, constantly striving for the light but never able to break the surface. Every moment the tips of her fingers threatened to claw at a sliver of light, Howe was suddenly there, a twisted grin distorting his face as his blade buried deep into her gut. And every time, he hovered over her, laughing raucously as her blood seeped through her fingers. But each time before she fell, she'd bolt awake in her bed, stricken in sweat, only to fall back into the same cycle again and again. It wasn't until the sun broke over the horizon to chase the nightmares away that she managed to fall into a dreamless state.

But when she finally woke for the day, she felt haggard and exhausted. She doubted she managed any rest with the state she'd been in the entire night. Staggering from her room, she immediately headed for the tavern, hoping for some food. Apparently she was still ravenous from her last few days. Ale was the furthest thing from her mind though, after last night's consequences.

"Did you hear," two men were huddled in the dark corner of a stairwell, conversing in hushed whispers. "About Ostagar?"

The words cut through her and she found herself stalling in order to listen to the words.

"Hear what?" the second asked.

"Ostagar has fallen. The Wardens have been wiped out, the _King_ is dead."

"What?" one gasped.

Emma's heart rocketed in her chest and she turned towards the men, but both were chatting too amorously to notice her attentions.

"Teryn Loghain retreated in time to save his troops, but the rest…" they trailed off.

"But you say the King is dead?"

Emma caught a slight sneer on the other's face. "No thanks to the Wardens. Loghain has named them traitors."

"Traitors?"

"Responsible for killing the King-"

Emma's gasp cut the sentence short. "No," she said. She heard the words but not the truth behind them. There was no way, the Warden's would never… Not Gilmore, nor Alistair. But even that didn't matter. The only thing that mattered right now was the fate of the Wardens.

"Did you say," she paused, her mouth going dry with the words, "the Wardens had fallen?"

"Every last one of them," one of them pronounced, leaning forward animatedly towards her.

"How do you know this? What are the facts?"

"Loghain and the Bann's all pass through here not an hour ago. Refugees from Ostagar are trickling in with every passing minute."

"Tell me," she ordered, forgetting for a moment that she was trying to hover beneath the radar.

"The King refused to remain with Loghain. He demanded to take part in the battle. The King's obsession with the Warden's left him to believe not only would they win the battle, but would stop the blight there before it could press further into Ferelden. Well, it sure didn't end that way, now did it," he chuckled.

"This is no laughing matter!" Emma snapped, her fingers instinctively twitching at her daggers. "That is your King you are speaking of. And the Wardens were a brave and honorable faction."

"Y-Yes my lady," they stuttered before bolting away before she could follow through with the threatening movements.

Emma hadn't thought there was any more room in her heart for pain, but from the wrench of pain twisting it, she learned otherwise. She had grown up with Gilmore and trained with him. But oddly enough it was the other one whose face kept flashing before her. It didn't matter anymore, though. There was no one left in her life anymore.

Her eyes flicked to the tavern counter and she headed immediately towards it, ordering the next bout of ale. Regardless of last night, hearing the news of the Warden's demise and the death of the King made her oddly thirsty. She tossed back the mug, wiping away at stray beads with the back of her increasingly filthy shirt. Drinking herself into another stupor suddenly seemed like a great idea.

-oOo-

All around her people were stirring, but she couldn't care enough to look up. In her hand she held the same mug she'd been nursing all week. It was only half full as she'd just taken a swig but it still held her attention. She'd learned a few things from that first night and knew to take her time with the ale. If she paced herself, there were no nightmares of Howe. Unfortunately the same could not be said for Alistair. While she might not have known him well enough, he seemed a frequent visitor of her dreams, not every one of them pleasant. Some seemed real enough that it took her a few moments upon waking to realize it had simply been a dream.

The gossip was spreading like wild fire, all of which was abysmal news. It seemed no matter where she turned she heard talk of the eradication of the Wardens. And _that_ was one of the last things she wanted to hear about. It only seemed to add a degree of danger to her dreams.

Instead she focused her mind on her next plan of action. Her week of room and board ended tomorrow and she had no money to extend her stay, and there was no way she was willing to part with at other of her weapons. Everything else had a certain importance to them. But she had nowhere else to go. Rumors had already reached her that Howe had taken over the role of Teryn of Highever. That information, while expected, hadn't been received well. Another night had been spent with ale.

Shouts suddenly echoed throughout the tavern matched by a wild war cry. Before she even had a chance to glance up, something hard and cold smashed into the side of her face. Air streamed through her ears as she sailed out of her chair, the hard cement floor knocking her skull around a few times. She was only vaguely aware of the pain pinning her body through, reverberating down to her toes, before everything suddenly went dark, her state of consciousness fading into nothing.

A warm hand cupped her cheek, soft words crooning to her that sliced through the abyss and brought with it a rush of reality that made her teeth ache. It wasn't only her teeth though. Her entire head felt as though it'd been ground against a grater, throbbing ruthlessly.

Groaning, her fingers touched her temple, wincing at the tenderness.

"Yes, I'd imagine that stung a little," a familiar voice murmured so gently to her.

Through grit teeth she forced her eyes open, finding herself staring up into the warmest set of light brown eyes she'd ever seen. A spark of life infused within her at the sight of his chiseled jaw and tiny dimples as he smiled down on her. But just as quickly her heart slipped down into her gut. It was just another dream. Her eyes fluttered shut once more, groaning lightly as her fingers continued to smooth her brow, hoping it would alleviate a little of the pain.

"Emma?" she heard his voice once more.

She took a deep breath, struggling in vain to clear her mind so he wouldn't be there. But when she opened her eyes once more, there he was, staring down at her with concern burrowing his brow. When his lips curved up into a smile and she found that tiny imperfection in the corner of his chin, she suddenly realizing she wasn't imaging things.

"Oh," she breathed, recognizing that it really was Alistair gazing down on her. It wasn't until that moment she actually realized just how lonely she'd been.

"Alistair," she whispered.

"Ah, good. I wagered if you could remember me, you'd be fine. But seriously," he stated with tiny little worry lines creasing at the corner of his eyes. "How do you feel? Can you sit up?"

His strong arm hooked behind her back and slowly helped her up. The moment she was vertical again, the world seemed to shift on its side. Knees buckling, she dropped, the only thing keeping her up were his arms.

"Some warrior," he teased her. "Trained to fight but not take hits?"

"The best warrior is one who is never around to hit," she countered weakly. It had been her second lesson. It took more energy for your opponent to swing and miss than to swing and hit. She'd been taught the method of evasion and stealth in order to take opponents down. Outmaneuver them until a weakness was exposed, then strike and bury that blade deep into their flesh until bone shattered. Taking shields to the face was not something she'd ever been equipped to withstand.

"How are you here?" she finally asked.

"Uh," he seemed a little confused. "Well, my feet sort of brought me here?"

"No," she shook her head, shrugging off his attempts at humor. "I mean how are you alive. I heard of Ostagar, they said all the Wardens died."

His face closed down, pain darkening his features. She almost regretted asking him about it.

"We would have, had Duncan not sent us on a specific mission. We are the only two Warden's remaining."

She didn't know what to say. Euphoria lit within her. She wasn't alone, at least not entirely. Grinning for the first time in what felt like forever, she stepped forward and tossed her arms around his neck, dragging him in a for a gentle hug, avoiding anything sharp with her head.

She felt the tension within him, but slowly he relaxed and hugged her back.

"I'm so happy you're alive," she whispered.

"Yes, well, at least someone is."

Something in his voice concerned her and she drew back, staring up at him.

"I'm sorry about what happened," she commented, wincing the moment his attention snapped elsewhere.

"Duncan's dead," was all he responded with.

Before Emma could question any further, a familiar pair of yellow eyes popped up over Alistair's shoulder, glancing down on her. "Is she well?"

"Morrigan," she murmured, her surprise outweighing an unexpected bout of jealousy.

From the newly sullen look twisting Alistair's features, she had a feeling this was not a companionship of choice.

"Tis I," she remarked coldly before turning back to the door.

"Why is she with you?" Emma asked quietly.

"It's a long story. But first I have someone here who would like to see you. I wasn't sure if we'd meet again but we brought him alone just in case."

Her heart flurried in her chest. Fergus, it had to be, he was alive! How could she have wasted this past week drinking her life away in the tavern?

"Where is he?" she demanded, her eyes roving over every face.

But Alistair was already three feet ahead of her and tossing open the tavern doors. Sunlight, something else she hadn't seen in a week, streamed in, momentarily blinding her.

And then she heard it. The oddest little sound of surprise. She leapt forward, her pulse thundering in her ears and dove out the door.

Before her eyes could even grow accustom to the light, something hard knocked into her chest and sent her tumbling to the ground.

For a brief moment she sat there, stunned, before she heard a group of people burst out laughing.

"Guess he was a little surprised to see you," another voice said.

She raised her hand, shielding the bright light, and there before her stood a monstrous beast, his head held above her, his tongue lashing against her face.

A tiny spur of disappointment colored her gut but she tucked it away for later. It was a separate kind of joy to see her mabari standing above her, his hot breath splaying against her face.

"Spartacus!" she cried out, lunging into him and throwing her arms around his neck. "Maker's breath, I never thought I'd see you again!"

And just like that, happiness returned to her life. Seeing Alistair, Gilmore, and Spartacus, and hell, even Morrigan, just made her life all that better.

"How is this possible?" she breathed.

"Come back to camp with us," Alistair commented. "And we'll tell you everything."

When she didn't rise at first, he arched a single brow, staring down at her with a hard look. "That is, unless you'd rather continue drinking away your life here at night?"

"How-"

"The innkeeper informed us while you were unconscious. Apparently he's concerned about you. We aren't the only one gossip is spreading about. There is much for us to discuss."

"Come on Emma," Gilmore murmured, dropping down and offering her a hand up. She stared at it for a brief moment before sliding her hand into his. It felt good to be near someone she knew, someone who was a friend. As he pulled her up, he pulled her into his side, loping an arm around her shoulders and leading her away. For the first time in over a week, she felt home.


	6. Chapter 6

**Thanks to everyone who has been reading and another thanks to the reviewers! I'm glad you are enjoying the story, its rather fun to write as well :)**

* * *

><p>Chapter 6<p>

-Alistair-

He couldn't help the small twangs of jealousy that kept nattering away at his stomach. And it was foolish too. The two had clearly known each other since infancy and obviously close bonds had come of that. But he didn't like seeing his arm loped over her shoulders like that, drawing her into his body. He did, however, smile every time her fingers locked into the mabari's fur. She'd release him for a split moment before thinking better of it and clutching to him again. Of course the beast didn't seem to have any issues with that at all. His head kept knocking into her thigh, he was walking so close.

Sighing, he glanced away from the two ahead of him. They were discussing matters that apparently didn't involve him. Most likely the fate of her home. But he wanted to contribute. He felt useless, had ever since waking up in that wretched hut.

He still couldn't believe it, his mind returning to recent events. He felt like he'd been abandoned all over again. Being taken from the chantry to train as a Grey Warden had been the turning event of his life. But now, the only people in his life that he had actually begun to develop relationships with were gone, taken from him in a moment of pure betrayal.

At first, Morrigan's mother's words just didn't make any sense at all. Loghain was the Hero of Riverdale for crying out loud! He had fought and defended Ferelden before. Alistair just couldn't imagine him picking up and retreating, leaving the King, all their comrades, their army, and… Duncan… to die. He was Cailan's father in law, how could he just…

Fighting against these thoughts, he turned to stare out over the roving landscape. Dejection and defeat spiraled through him. He simply longed to crawl under a rock somewhere and die.

But he couldn't even do that.

And then to have the witch thrust upon them. He had no idea what Flemeth's plans were and part of him just didn't want to know. But he did _not_ like her daughter. Always watching with those yellow eyes, seeing things that he began to believe he couldn't see. Even now she stood behind them some ten feet, alone, just watching. Creepy.

His eyes danced back to the front of the party to find Emma still tucked into Gilmore's side. Glaring at them, something clicked in the back of his mind. She wasn't tucked into him, she was leaning against him. And if he looked closer, her steps were uneven, her arms slack at her side.

He quickened his pace only to find the poor woman drooping with every step. Her mabari glanced up at him and gave a small whine. How stupid of him. It wasn't a closeness developed from a bond, Gilmore was simply trying to keep her upright until they reached camp. He was sure a week of drinking her fears away was the issue. From what he'd always witnessed from the other Wardens, liquor was never the answer. You might think you were resting when you fell unconscious but you weren't. Your body would be combating the effects of the alcohol, attempting to clear it from your system. There was no rest whatsoever. He was surprised the woman hadn't just dropped yet from pure exhaustion.

She forced her eyes open in time to find him watching her, her bright blue eyes slamming through his chest. Oddly enough those had been the first thing he had thought of upon waking in Flemeth's hut. He was a granted a brief moment to wonder if he'd ever see her again before the devastating news had been passed to him. And now, seeing them again, he was shocked to realize how happy he was she was here.

Meeting her mabari had been another trick of fate. Gilmore and Spartacus had recognized each other immediately. After that, there'd been no ridding themselves of the beast. Secretly, Alistair hadn't minded. If they had her dog, they'd find her. And they had.

Warmth crept into his heart the moment she fed him a tiny smile before casting her attention back out towards the woods. Yes, he was quite happy they'd found her.

* * *

><p>-Emma-<p>

"Camp is nearby. Just over that last knoll." Alistair suggested, finally breaking the silence that had fallen on them over an hour ago, after sparing a moment to glance down at her. Weariness crept through her bones and she wasn't sure why. After all, it wasn't as though she'd done anything for a week. She'd eaten, drank, and slept most of it. So why was she so tired?

"What is it?" Gilmore questioned.

Alistair crooked his head towards Emma who was fading, stumbling into him as he abruptly stopped. Apparently still spry, the man turned and steadied her, smiling gently down at her.

"Very well," the witch sighed under her breath. "You two start the fire and I shall find us something to make for food."

Again, another flash of light and Morrigan in the form of a wolf trotted off into the darkness, her nose pressed to the ground.

The remaining party continued onwards. Emma stared up at the small hill and sighed. "You go on ahead," she told the Wardens. "I'll catch up."

"I'll start the fire," Gilmore suggested, loping up the hill as though he had all the energy in the world.

She started up the path, surprised when strong hands caught her the first time she stumbled. Glancing over, she gave Alistair wide eyes.

"I'll stay with you," he murmured gently before helping her up the angled hill.

Unable to think of something smart to say, she merely smiled and nodded, her stomach fluttering anxiously every time he touched her.

_Stop it_, she told herself. This was not the time to develop an interest in someone. She had so many things to do, so many places to go. Becoming interested in a Grey Warden would only distract her.

"You sit," Alistair ordered her gruffly, pointing over to a damp moldy log. She sagged down onto it and forced every muscle in her body to relax. Within minutes Alistair had the fire blazing before them, the heat an added comfort. Then he sat on a log across the way, completely stoic. Emma knew what was bothering him, Gilmore had told her everything along the way, but had no idea of how to broach the topic with him. It wasn't like she wanted to discuss her parent's death, why would he wish to discuss Duncan?

It wasn't until she watched him turn his eyes forlornly up towards the sky that she finally rose and slowly ambled over to him, dropping down next to him.

"Do you want to talk about Duncan?" she asked softly, wincing as he whipped around to face her.

"Uh, no," he snapped. "I mean, thanks, but you don't have to. I know you two never met."

"No, but he was like a father to you, I understand that much." And she did have some experience in that matter.

He fed her another glance, before finally nodding, turning towards the fire with a phlegmatic face.

"I'm sorry," he grumbled. "I take it Gilmore told you everything?"

She nodded.

Sighing, he dropped his head down into his hands. "I shouldn't have reacted so badly. Not when so much is riding on us, not with the blight. It's just..."

There was always a 'just', a 'but', something that gave a person away as being human and not emotionless and cold. She was especially familiar with that herself.

"Alistair," Emma scolded. "There's absolutely no reason why you should be apologizing to me."

"I don't think he had any family," he whispered.

Before she knew what she was doing, Emma reached out and took his hand into hers, her thin fingers curving around his. "He had you, Alistair."

"I guess. I feel as though I should have been with him on the field. If I had been there… maybe I could have saved him? I know that sounds stupid."

"No, Alistair. I understand completely." It was exactly the way she felt about her parents. "But had you been there, you would have died." Or so was her understanding.

"I know," he murmured, thumbing her knuckles casually. "I think he was from Highever. Maybe I'll go there after, build a shrine or something for him. I don't think he had any family, or at least none that he ever spoke of."

"He had you," she suggested. "And I think the shrine is a great idea," she continued, swallowing past the irrational fear that arose at the mention of her home.

"Thank you, this helped, truly."

"Anytime Alistair," she whispered. "Maybe I'll go with you." By then i'd be time to put to bed her own problems.

He turned sad eyes down to her nodding, "I think I'd like that. Have you… ever lost anybody that you loved? Not that I mean to pry, just curious."

Biting down on her lower lip, she turned back to the fire, her hand slipping from his. How could he have forgotten?

"If you recall my entire family was just recently murdered, my home destroyed and taken from me," she answered, her tone a bit bitter. She hadn't meant for it to come out that way at all, it just had.

"Oh, I can't believe I forgot… I'm so sorry," he pleaded with her. "How stupid of me…"

She merely shrugged, turning away so he couldn't see her trembling lip.

"Can I…?" he stammered into silence. His finger suddenly hooked under her chin and turned her face back towards him the moment a single tear spilled over her cheek. Somehow this had gone utterly wrong. She had merely meant to help him, she had certainly not intended for the conversation to take such a turn. "Can I ask what happened?"

"Gilmore didn't tell you?" she asked so quietly that barely either heard her.

"No. He'd mentioned Duncan and he had some troubles getting to Ostagar and that the estate had been taken, but that wa it."

Sighing, she rose and stood before the fire.

"If you'd rather not…"

"What's there really to say Alistair? My father was betrayed by Arl Howe, a lifelong friend of his. He stormed our estate, killed everyone loyal to us, gutted my father and slaughtered my mother. He murdered my nephew and brother's wife, my mother's closest friend and the man I was supposed to…" she paused.

He rose from the log and shuffled over to her. "Supposed to what?"

She grimaced. What was she supposed to say? That they'd just become engaged, that for awhile his was the first face that came to mind and now all she saw his blood streaming into the hall.

"Emma?" he asked again.

"Just… someone who was of interest to me."

"I'd heard the news Emma," Gilmore murmured from across the camp. "I hadn't even a chance to congratulate you before... well just before."

"It doesn't matter now," was all she said.

"Are you three done sharing your sob stories yet?" a snide voice came from across the camp. "I only ask because there is much work to be done if any would like to eat tonight."

Emma turned towards the stark naked witch that crossed the camp, lugging a rabbit over her shoulder.

"Real sensitive," Alistair growled at her, turning away from her immediately after she spoke.

She threw a glance over her shoulder, frowning at them both.

"I only wish to point out that none of us have eaten all day and if you continue to belabor on the past, none of us will eat before the morn."

"I get it," he responded snidely. "This is the part where we learn that you never had any friends growing up."

"I can choose to be friendlier," she snapped. "Alas, daring to be more intelligent does not make it so."

"Whatever," he griped, reaching for the rabbit. "All I'm saying is show some class witch. Maybe emotions don't mean much to you, but those of us that are human actually have some."

Emma saw Morrigan's lips part, but before she could respond, Gilmore barked at them to be quiet, muttering how this wasn't the time. As Morrigan stalked off towards the opposite direction of the camp, Emma turned to Alistair and mumbled a quiet thanks. The two shared a pained smile before turning towards the now raging fire.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

-Emma-

She awoke to the sounds of birds chirping nearby. It seemed wrong somehow as though after everything they had gone through, the world should reflect it. People were dead or dying everywhere, kings massacred, battles waged and lost, and yet the world continued on as though it had no effect on her. Long after they were all gone, buried and rotting away, Earth would continue as would nature. All around her they were surrounded by trees and grass and soil. It was a depressing thought to wake to. She wasn't sure why she awoke in such a morose mood, but there it was.

She rolled on her side and stared at the lightly snoring men next to her. Alistair, Gilmore, and her had felt more comfortable sleeping side by side, strength in numbers that sort of thing. Of course it hadn't mattered what logic they presented to the witch, she apparently loathed the idea of human companionship. She remained on the other side of camp with her own fire and her own bed.

The good news was she finally felt refreshed. And with that came a state of mind she hadn't possessed in a while, something with a hint of promise. The dinner had passed rather quickly, all of them eating whatever it was Morrigan had managed to chase down and kill. Then when she'd retreated to her little section of land, the other three had sat on the logs and made conversation. Nothing extravagant, just little small talk to pass the time. Soon after, she'd woken up to warm hands shifting her over onto her bedroll. The warm amber eyes were a clear indication of who it was.

And speaking of the devil, Alistair was mumbling under his breath, a few choice words falling out that she couldn't understand. Something about a king. Well she already knew where her mind was so it didn't surprise her that he was dreaming about Cailan. She debated waking him but he just seemed so peaceful that she found it hard to do so. Without his armor, all she could see were the hard muscles he had developed through hours of Maker knows what. It was a quite bit distracting in fact. The undershirt he wore peeked open and she found her eyes trailing south. Definitely some defined muscles.

Forcing her attention elsewhere, she rose quietly and meandered off towards the trees. They would all need some water soon and she was awake so she might as well look. The path was winding but she'd always had a great sense of direction. She knew she'd be able to find herself back to them. The sound of bubbling water came from her left so she altered her trajectory. It grew louder and louder until finally a tiny stream lay before her. From the sound of the thundering water, she was a little shocked it hadn't been a river.

Throwing one last look over her shoulder, she debated her choices while chewing on her bottom lip. She _could_ strip down and bathe herself right here. It wasn't as though Alistair or Gilmore knew where she was and if it was Morrigan, well they were both women, it didn't matter. She simply wanted to clean herself of the stench of death and blood. And if she was going to be approaching Nobles, it seemed like a wise choice.

Her fingers latched onto the hem of her own shirt and slowly she lifted it above her head, tossing it down into the cold stream. Clean clothing, of course, would be nice as well. With another glance back, her fingers moved to the strings of her leggings, untying them quickly and kicking them off to drop them down into the stream as well.

She had never once been naked outside before. It was inappropriate of a Cousland to do so. The feeling was… odd. And yet amusing at the same time. She could only imagine the look her mother would give her or the scolding of her father. Of course, those things didn't matter anymore. They were already forever gone.

Sighing, she dipped a single toe into the stream and swirled it about, wincing at the degree. It was as cold as ice. She straightened, took a deep breath, and stepped within it.

"Cold, cold, cold," she laughed as she progressed within the water until it rose over her chest. Her lungs seemed to collapse for a moment, her skin already numb. The moment she tipped her head back into the water, she gasped.

She came back up and reached for the clothing, ringing them out and tossing them carelessly on the bank. Then she dipped her head once more. Once the utter frozen feeling faded, it was almost nice. She was swimming carefree in a stream out in the middle of the woods. No darkspawn about, no men following her to make sure she was safe as her father always had a guard with her, nothing. Just her and the water.

"Room for one more?" a groggy voice came from the edge of the trees.

Squeaking, she dove further beneath the water, her arms covering her more tender areas. Alright, apparently not completely alone.

Alistair stumbled towards the edge of the water, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"Alistair," she groaned. "I'm not… exactly… dressed."

His suddenly alert eyes flashed to her, then down at the bank where her sopping clothing lay.

"Maker," he laughed nervously, a new flush to his cheeks reddening them. "I'm so sorry Emma. I'll just go… over there… and uh not look."

"I can meet you back at camp you know," she suggested.

"Oh, no, no, no. I'm not leaving you alone out here in this state," he laughed. "What if bandits suddenly came and took all your clothing? Then what would you do?"

Groaning, she cast a tentative look up at him to find him very determined to look away. "I guess fight some bandits stark naked."

The man swallowed, she noticed, his eyes wandering a brief second to her before snapping back in the other direction. "Uh, sorry. No. I'll just keep my back turned and you can go about your business. No slaying bandits naked."

"Fine," she sighed, realizing he was just like every other man. Protective and overbearing. But at least with him it didn't bother her as much as her father had.

She finished rinsing herself off and swam gently to the edge, eyeing him carefully to make sure he kept his word as she walked out of the water, dripping wet.

She lowered for her clothing, for some reason her eyes flashing down to his hands. Were they clenched into fists? How strange. He didn't appear angry?

She threw on the wet clothing, gasping as the ice cold material slid over her skin. At least if it grew hot today, they would keep her cool.

"I'm, uh, done." She said quietly.

The man turned then and nodded, his own eyes turning towards the stream, his cheeks still remarkably beat red.

"Why don't you head back and I'll take the time to wash up. I'll bring some water back with me as well."

His voice seemed gruff. Frowning, she watched him, not able to predict the sudden change in mood.

"Alright," she breathed. "You don't want me to stay and guard you from bandits?"

She was teasing him but he didn't seem to take it that way.

"No, if bandits come, I can handle them."

Inside, she was seething. Was he suggesting that she couldn't? She had done her fair share of fighting with him already and still he doubted her talents?

Snarling under her breath, she turned and stalked off back towards the camp. Fine, let him be attacked by bandits. And she hoped they did steal every last article of his clothing. Show him who's capable of defending themselves.

-oOo-

-Alistair-

By the Maker, he was simply glad she was gone. He relaxed his hands, his fingers having cramped up minutes ago. That had to be the hardest thing he'd ever done, keep his back while that woman was swimming around carelessly, and naked might be add, in the water. The Chantry taught him to be polite and to treat women with respect, but seeing her clothes strewn about on the bank like that and the idea that maybe he would catch just a little… he shook his head again. She was a Cousland and demanded proper respect.. One of the noblest houses in Ferelden, respected by all, and incredibly, incredibly powerful. Sneaking just the little peak at their youngest and possibly last remaining member had been too tempting.

He'd caught a flash of pale skin as she walked up onto the bank but the worst, the absolute _worst_ was when she had told him she was finished and he'd turned and… well let's just say those thin strips of material were not meant to be wetted and then worn. He doubted the woman had even been aware of the fact that the soaked fabric had clung to every single one of her curves, or that it had become quite transparent when wet. That was the joy of white clothing. He had known the river was cold and from the slight puckering of the darker skin beneath the shirt, he could see.

He shook his head again. Belaboring on such thoughts was not wise.

He stripped off his own clothing and threw them angrily down to the ground. He had thought he was better than that, trying to catch a peek at her. But there was just something about that woman that made him feel… strange inside. And made him act like a bloody child rather than the adult he was.

Washing quickly, he did the same thing, rinse his clothing in the water. He was able to remove much of the dirt, of course the blood was set in for good. They'd have to look for replacement clothing when in Lothering. He wondered if he could convince her to buy white again, of course that was if she came. Berating himself, he completely dove under the water in an attempt to clear his mind. The temperature stole his breath away, his lungs seizing from the cold.

Deciding that it would probably be best that he didn't linger, he also walked out of the water and threw on his own soaked clothes. The last thing he did was fill up both of their canteens with water before turning and heading back to camp.

Both women were sitting in the same area, which surprised him all on his own but not speaking. And _that_ didn't shock him at all. Gilmore stood off in the opposite direction, shooting a weary glance to Alistair. After last night, he believed it'd be awhile before Emma addressed her again. The witch turned her evil eyes towards him and smirked, glancing back at Emma before openly laughing.

He glanced at her and then glanced down at himself. Ya, they did both look like a couple of drowned rats. He lowered himself down onto the soft earth they had found last night, beside her, watching as she ran her fingers through her hair. At least the fire had dried her shirt so there couldn't be any more peeking. But as he watched her, he noted her quick jerky movements and the sour expression turning her face. Emma Cousland was angry and he bet he knew why.

_Andraste's Blood_, he'd only left them alone for ten minutes together and already the witch must have said something to irritate her. His eyes bounced between them but the witch seemed perfectly as ease. With a narrowed brow, he glared at her but she merely shook her head.

"Twas not I who offended the dear Cousland," she spoke clearly, delving a stick into the fire.

He laughed. "Maybe it's just your presence. I know it offends me."

The woman leapt to her feet, lips snarling at him. "If it offends you so, perhaps I should simply leave."

"Morrigan, sit," Gilmore ordered in a commanding quiet voice, stepping up to the group. "Alistair, enough."

Both didn't even question it. Morrigan simply sat while staring daggers at him and Alistair fell silent.

He ran a hand through his wet hair, flinging the excess water particles towards the fire. Needless to say, she was still mad. No, mad didn't quite cover it. She was livid. The witch said it hadn't been her. Did that mean he had said something to warrant this? He had to admit, at least to himself, that she was gorgeous when angry. Her eyes lit up with a light he'd never seen before in a woman's eyes and her tight jaw only added a more angular look to her so soft features. It was quite the change. He'd seen her depressed and playful and now angry. And with each new emotion, his fascination with her seemed to peek. Stealing a glance to Gilmore, the two men merely shrugged to one another, both clearly lost to the turn of attitude.

Shaking his head, he returned to business. He couldn't imagine that he'd said anything wrong. Maybe she was just mad he'd stumbled upon her in the stream. And he couldn't exactly apologize for that.

"Have you decided on your next course of action?" he finally questioned.

"Yes."

"Alright," he edged. "It's just, I wanted to ask you something."

She didn't respond, just continued running her fingers through her hair.

Sighing, he turned back towards the witch, his eyebrows raised in requesting help. But she merely laughed mirthlessly once more and rose from her log, walking back to her own side of the camp. Even Gilmore walked off, leaving Alistair to his fate with this woman.

"Emma?" he asked softly.

"What?"

"Could we maybe discuss something here? I'm sorry if I offended you, I certainly didn't mean to."

She turned those smoldering eyes towards him, the corners of her mouth twitching as though she was about to give him a verbal lashing. Finally she dropped her gaze and merely nodded.

"I don't know if you know the full extent as to what's happening. But Gilmore and I have a responsibility to the Blight. The thing is, you're an amazing fighter, even Gilmore's commented on that. I was actually hoping you'd consider joining us? We could certainly use the help, and…"

"And what?" she asked, turning back towards him.

He'd managed to catch himself before the words fell from his lips. He'd been about to tell her he would have liked her company. But that seemed too personal. Instead he changed it into – "It might help us having a Cousland in the group."

He caught a quick clucking of her tongue against her teeth, but she was calm again when she answered.

"Alistair, I can't come with you."

"Why not?" he asked softly, trying not to show the hurt in his voice. He had a feeling though, she'd heard it.

"You said the Blight is your responsibility and Howe is mine. I swore vengeance to my parents; it was the last thing I ever promised them. Your war is for Ferelden, mine is for Highever. I can't abandon my people or leave them in the hands of that sadistic, foul man."

Her words made sense. Maker, even he was rooting for her.

"Couldn't you do that while traveling and helping us?"

"You need someone who is solely focused on ending the Blight. It's the sort of goal that demands someone's entire attention. I'm not able to give that to you, I'm sorry Alistair, I am. But my loyalties right now are to my people. With Fergus gone, it falls to me."

Finally, he nodded. "I understand."

"Where will you go from here?" she asked quickly, as though afraid he would leave.

"I figured we'd go to Lothering first and get some supplies. Then we have the treaties to fulfill. Gilmore and I have been talking about it and we think Eamon should be saved for last. We will need an army first before we petition him for his assistance."

"Arl Eamon? You would seek him out?"

"Yes, uh…" Alistair shot her another glance, gauging how much to tell her. "He's a good man, and could probably offer us much help."

"Loghain was a good man," she mumbled. "Look where that got you."

He winced. "Yes, well, the thing is, Eamon sort of… raised me. I know he would never do anything to harm Ferelden. Or rather, the slobbering dogs in his stables raised me," he teased.

She blinked at him, the ire in her eyes fading until all that remained was the sparkling blue, a Cousland family trait if he remembered correctly.

"Slobbering… dogs?" she repeated.

"Yes, personal pets of his."

He turned a sneaky smile her way and noted she followed. Ah, so she was one of those women who got mad but never stayed mad. Now that was going to make his life a heck of a lot easier.

"Well now," she responded, staring back into the fire and leaning away from him. "That would explain the smell."

"Well, it wasn't until I was six that I learned you don't need to clean yourself with your tongue. Old habits die hard I suppose."

"Mmhmm," she laughed. "And the breath as well. I was beginning to wonder if you were eating garbage when I wasn't looking."

He stopped, the sound of her laughter new to him. He'd seen her smile, caught a few smirks every now and then but actual laugh? With how easy it seemed to come to her he imagined she used to do it often. And when she did her entire face lit up.

"You should do that more often," he grumbled.

"Do what?" she asked softly, the grin beginning to recede onto into his memory.

"Laugh. It suits you."

Her face instantly sobered and he regretted it.

"Anyways," he pushed on before her walls came up again. "Arl Eamon raised me. I know he is a good man. And he would do anything for his country."

"So then why are you nervous to return?"

It was like a sucker punch to his gut. And here he'd thought he was hiding his emotions, but apparently not.

With a deep voice, he started. "When I was older, Eamon married a woman from Orlais. Caused all sorts of trouble, as I am sure you can imagine. When she moved into the estate, she loathed the rumors that pegged me as Eamon's bastard. So off I went, shipped to the nearest chantry. I was so angry with him I refused to see him whenever he came to visit."

"What of your father?"

He cleared his throat. "Uh, I never met my father. I am a bastard through and through."

"I could have told you that," she teased.

"Oh, my wounded heart," he mock fainted. "Anyways. I haven't seen him since. The chantry schooled me in the ways of a Templar, trained me to become one of them. And then Duncan… Duncan found me and saw I wasn't happy. He conscripted me right from under the reverend mother. And boy, was she ever furious with him."

"You're a templar?"

He turned to her, a little shocked by the interest in her face. He was so used to people ignoring him when he spoke that he found her interest a little intoxicating.

"I never made it to my final vows. But in abilities, yes I am a templar."

"But you hate the chantry?"

He shrugged. "I hated being forced there. I remember… I once had a locket, it had been my mothers. When Eamon told me where I was being sent to, I was so mad I tore it off my neck and threw it against the wall. It broke. What a stupid, stupid, thing to do."

"You were a child," she said.

"And raised by his slobbering dogs, or at least I acted like one for all the good it did me."

"And that's why you're nervous to return to Redcliffe?"

He averted his eyes and nodded. He hated lying to her, but he just wasn't ready to tell her the rest. She was a Cousland. She understood power and position and responsibility. And with Cailan gone… the idea that they might make him…

"It's alright Alistair," she laughed softly once more. "If he tries to stuff you back into the Chantry, I'll break you out."

The conversation ebbed the moment the witch stalked back over to their camp, her bag slung up over her shoulder. Gilmore approached from the other side, smiling down at the two of them.

"We should leave now. Before we are forced to spend another night in this hollow pit."

Sighing, Alistair pushed to his feet, offering a hand down to help Emma up. How he hated the witch. In the pit of his stomach, he felt the desire to simply sit here for the rest of his life, talking with Emma and simply being near her. And now he knew they were to go their own separate ways, with each of them to begin their own tasks.

Gilmore and Alistair packed up what remaining gear they had left and the five began on the road to Lothering. That was where they'd split off, it'd been decided. Spartacus jumped around Emma's legs, excited to be heading out with his master.

As they marched the length of the path, Alistair couldn't help but feel he wish he was going with her as well.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

-Alistair-

This was it, he realized the moment she paused and glanced back to Gilmore and him. Scoffing under her breath, the witch stormed off towards a merchant. Gilmore dropped a hand down onto her shoulder before smiling softly at her and wishing her good luck.

"Maybe when this is all done, I'll come and see you. I'll help rebuild," he offered.

"I know you will. Good luck and try not to die."

He smiled once more before following after Morrigan, leaving Alistair behind. He slowly approached her, unsure of what to even say.

"I suppose this is it," he started with.

"Good luck."

Was it him, or had her voice gotten quieter? She fiddled with the hilts of her blades.

"Take care of yourself. Don't get lost in the woods somewhere."

She smiled weakly, throwing a glance over her shoulder. "Uh, you should catch up, before they get too far away."

"I know where to find them," he suggested, inadvertently closing the distance between them. "Be safe. You probably have a lot of people looking for you as the last Cousland."

"I know," she nodded.

Before following after the other two, he gazed down at her, memorizing everything about her. Then he turned and walked off, ignoring the part of him that was screaming to turn back. He fought against it as long as he could until finally he _needed_ to look at her once more. But when he glanced back, she wasn't there. Sighing under his breath, he nodded and continued after Gilmore and Morrigan.

-oOo-

-Emma-

She needed to leave Lothering as quickly as possible. Her week spent there had been enough for a lifetime. And now it was time to start planning how she would get back her home. She'd promised her parents that she'd avenge them, but with Howe now named Teryn, she'd knew there'd be challenges. The main one of course the large troops he'd have with him. What she needed was assistance. She'd been discussing it with Gilmore the night before. He suggested approaching any Bann's or Arl's who had been faithful to her father and request assistance to take back her home. While a time consuming process, or at least more so than simply walking in and slaughtering Howe where he stood, she thought it might be the best course of action. Of course that wasn't until after Gilmore mentioned murdered Arl Howe might have some negative consequences.

The closest to Lothering was the South Reach. She knew the Arl here personally and knew she could trust him within an inch of her life. Her father had told her stories of him when she was younger, as he'd fought alongside both him and King Maric during the Orlesian occupation. Yes, that meant he fought alongside Howe as well, but she'd heard talk slip past her father's lips before regarding heated arguments between the Arl of South Reach and Howe. While friends during the war, apparently afterwards, Arl Bryland wanted nothing to do with Howe. For her, this was the most promising option. Bryland and her father had remained close friends up until the day he died. The only thing she was unsure of was if he knew of the news or not. Barely over a week had passed since the murder of her parents. Sometimes news took awhile to spread. Thankfully, South Reach was a short distance away; halfway between Denerim and Lothering.

Her thoughts were interrupted by someone shouting in the distance. At the sound of clanging weapons, Emma dashed towards them, Spartacus charging in after her, reefing on her blade as she shot forwards. The only armed people she'd seen in the town were templars and the Warden's. And if either of them were fighting, she knew it'd be something serious.

Launching up a ramp, she rounded a corner to find two dwarves cowering under their caravan as a small barrage of Darkspawn rushed them. Letting out a war cry as fierce as any, Emma lunged forward, her blade burying deep into the creature's spine. The onslaught turned on her, lips reared back, snarling, and growling as they attacked. Emma dove and leapt around them, side stepping every one of their attacks until she found an unarmored spot she could drive her blades home into. Flesh split and blood gushed, running in dark rivulets down onto the cement. One by one they fell, their beady eyes staring blankly up at the sky, until finally, only she, Spartacus, and the two dwarves remained.

Sheathing her blade, she turned.

"Might fine timing you have there," the elder dwarf commented as he crawled out.

"You're welcome."

"I've never seen someone fight like that. Forgive me, my name is Bodahn Feddic and this is my son Sandal. Say hello Sandal."

"Hello," the younger dwarf mumbled, his voice a tad off.

"You aren't traveling by chance, are you?"

"I am," she answered, "But where I'm going is no place for a few merchants."

"I'd imagine not," he laughed. "But I can't help but notice you have no gear. I have plenty of wares. Take what you need. As a thank you for saving me and my boy's life here."

Never having been one for charity, Emma shook her head.

"Please," he pushed, "I insist. Without you, the boy and I would have been eaten for dinner. You can at least take this bedroll and tent. It'll keep you dry when it rains."

And that was something that happened often in Ferelden.

"Here, take this sack. It'll make it easier to carry them."

Chewing on her bottom lip, she finally nodded and reached for the gear. It would certainly come in handy.

"Thank you Bodahn."

He gave another nod before pointing at the surrounding mess. "Come on Sandal. Let's get cleaned up so we can leave."

"Be safe," she murmured before continuing on.

Soon she was on the road, but not as alone as before, not with Spartacus at her side. Every now and then she'd glance down at him, smiling at the excitement in his every step. It was different this time, with someone she loved at her side. Even with the mabari, she still found herself missing Alistair and Gilmore. But at least they were alive and well.

She hadn't asked them where they were heading. Grey Warden business was just that. But she did know they were about to engage in some dangerous activity. Much like herself.

As she walked down the road, she found herself thinking just about Alistair and the muscles she had caught peeking out at her from under his shirt. Now that she'd learned he'd been trained as a templar, she knew where he'd gotten them. She never met a templar before but he certainly didn't seem the type. He was certainly more of a Grey Warden. The mystery that shrouded him was appealing.

But that thought was snuffed from her mind almost instantly the moment Spartacus dropped his nose down to the gravel road, a low growl rumbling from his chest.

"Please!" she heard someone shout. Apparently today was the day for helping people. A woman barreled towards her, her hands held out, her face stricken. "Our caravan was attacked. Could you help us?"

She shared a glance with Spartacus quickly before she nodded. Never being one to leave people in trouble, she followed after, pulling her blade. The moment she entered the clearing, a small group fanned out, surrounding her. From the front, a tall elf, with long blonde hair stepped forward, his lips curving into a wicked smile. Apparently that was the signal, because she was suddenly being rushed.

Spartacus dove into action, his powerful jaws tearing into the thigh of the closest attacker. The man fell, thrashing in pain. Emma ducked in time for a blade to slice through the air over her head. Tucking down, she sliced upwards, a torrent of blood pouring over her face. With grit teeth, she grabbed her dagger and spun in a circle, her two blades laying open the surrounding attackers. Before she could be swarmed, she dropped down to the ground and rolled, kicking up dust as she moved. And then she vanished into a shadow.

All around her, the men shouted in alarm as they searched for her. She crept around the circle of men until the clear leader was before her, his eyes narrowed in concentration. Just as he was about to turn and face her, she sprang forth, her dagger pressed tightly against his neck.

"Stop," she called in a clear voice. She pressed the blade tighter against his neck until a trickle of blood spread over the blade. "Call them off."

Hesitation impregnated the air.

"Call. Them. Off," she ordered once more, pulling on the blade a little, his neck splitting further. She felt him tightened against her and then finally gave a nod to his people.

They bolted faster than she could have imagined. It might have had something to do with the five already dead, their blood seeping into the soil.

"Now, my friend," the elf started nervously. "Perhaps if you would back off, we could discuss this like civilized folk."

"Civilized folk do not try to assassinate someone."

"Oh ho," he laughed lightly. "I would argue that. Some of the most civilized people I know have tried to assassinate others."

Emma pulled her dagger away and kicked the elf forward. Spartacus was immediately there, his sharp teeth pointed down at the assassin's throat.

"Uh, yes… you haven't killed me yet, so if we might speak?"

"Start talking. Who are you?"

"My name is Zevran Arainai of the Antivan Crows."

"The Antivan Crows? Who are they?"

"Truly?" he asked. "I thought all had heard of them. We are an elite organization of thieves and assassins hired by those who are incapable of dealing in such matters."

"And what would you want with me?"

"Clearly I was hired to kill you," he chuckled under his breath.

"Who hired you?"

"A rather heated fellow named Howe, or something like that."

Scoffing, Emma glanced away for a second. Of course it was Howe. Alistair had warned her that word had spread she was in Lothering. He'd been concerned with Bann Ceorlic, a Bann quite loyal to Loghain, who in part was attached to Howe. Apparently Alistair had been utterly right to worry for her.

"Why are you telling me all this?"

"And why not? I was not paid for silence."

"And now that you've failed?"

"Well that is between Howe and the Crows, is it not?"

"And between you and I?"

"I rather thought we were discussing that right now."

Her eyes narrowed on him, waiting for the moment that he chose to strike again.

"Speak quickly."

"Oh my, such force. I rather like that," he grinned. "Come, sit. We shall speak."

He waved her over to a flat rock and sat, tapping the rock next to him.

"I don't think so," she snapped.

"Fine then, keep your distance."

"Tell me why I shouldn't just kill you where you stand right now?"

"Well it seems to me that you are a rather important person. I did not ask the details but if an Arl is hiring an assassin to deal with you, it speaks volumes of the person I am meant to kill. And if I return to the crows now, they would most likely 'do away' with me. I have failed, I am no longer of use to them."

Emma leaned back, her arms crossing over her armored chest. He had better not be going in the direction she sensed he was.

Before she could express her dislike of his targeted conversation, he continued onwards.

"And travelling alone, such as you are, does not seem the wisest choice at the moment for you."

"So what?" she demanded. "You propose that you travel with me? As what, my bodyguard?"

"For lack of a better word. Truth of the matter however, is we help each other."

"You want me to travel with someone who just tried to kill me?"

"While I am sure your faithful dog could protect you, I am the wiser choice, no? Trained as an assassin, I am well equipped to fight. As well, I know the Crows. I will be able to help you prepare for the next attack. And believe me, there will be another. The Arl was rather insistent over your fate."

She burst out laughing. How could she not? "You say the Crows will try again. How am I to believe that you won't simply try again the moment my back is turned?"

"Believe me, there are other things I would prefer to try first."

"Nice try," she snapped. "You honestly expect me to believe that you wouldn't try again, if not only to save your own neck?"

"I will swear whatever oath you ask of me. I am being earnest. We both have the need of a companion. These are not the safest times for one to be traveling alone, especially with a fellow like Howe wishing you dead. As for me, perhaps they will think twice attacking either of us if we travel together."

"I must be crazy," she murmured, staring down at the elf.

"You agree?"

For a brief moment she hesitated before finally nodding. "But one wrong move and my mabari will be having your 'special areas' for breakfast."

"Oh my," he chuckled. "And I am rather attached to those. I will behave, you have my oath."

She leaned forward and offered her hand. It was a test of faith, a moment of vulnerability where he could plunge his blade into her belly. But with a bright smile, he took her hand and shook it, rising to his feet.

"Might I know the name of my defender?" he asked.

"Emma Cousland."

"Ah," he nodded. "I hear you are the last remaining of the line. It does make sense now why the newly named Teryn of Highever would wish you dead. In that case, my lady, I am at your beck and call. Whatever needs you might… possess, I will assist with."

"Just keep your eyes on the road," she growled.

"As my lady commands. And where, might I ask, are we heading?"

"To the South Reaches. The Arl there was a friend of my father."

"Ah, and you believe petitioning for his help will assist you in claiming back your lands."

She shot him a dirty look.

Grinning, the elf threw his hands up in defense. "I am well versed in the way of politics. You might find that helpful."

"I'll keep that in mind."

Before he could reply again, she quickened her pace, hoping to reach South Reach by nightfall.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

-Emma-

"My dear!" Arl Bryland's voice welcomed her as she entered the common hall. "Look at you. It's been so long, too long!" he shot a glance over her shoulder, staring past the elf and out the door. "And where is my dear friend Bryce?"

A lump lodged in her throat. She'd been so hoping that the news had already spread this far. Even she'd heard the gossip that Howe was the new Teryn of Highever. But there were always cases where the gossip just didn't travel as well.

"Arl Bryland-"

"Leonas, please child. You've known me your whole life."

She gave a respectful nod. "Leonas, then. I'd hoped the news had traveled here before I arrived."

"What news?" he asked casually, stepping towards her and drawing out a chair. "Have a seat."

She flicked a glance over her shoulder at Zevran, who with a nod, approached the door and pulled it shut.

"What is this about?" Bryland questioned, his eyes narrowing as she ensured they were alone in the room.

"I'd hoped not to be the one to have to tell you this."

"Tell me what? Where is Bryce, Emma? Or your mother? I trust they wouldn't allow you to travel so far by yourself."

"She is not alone," Zevran spoke up from the far side of the room.

"My apologies. We must not have met."

"Leonas," Emma called his attention back to her. "I am here to request your assistance."

"With what?"

"A little over a week ago, my father was to ride to Ostagar with Arl Howe," she couldn't help but notice how the Arl's shoulders tightened with the mentioning of Howe's name. It gave her a little hope.

But that wasn't what he focused on. "Ostagar? I'd heard no word he was riding there."

So he'd heard of the fate of the fortress then.

She glanced back at Zevran who gave her an encouraging nod.

"My father never made it out of Highever."

"Oh," Bryland sighed, his shoulders slacking. "That is good news indeed. I'd heard the news of the devastation there."

"No, you misunderstand me. My mother and father were murdered that night by Arl Howe."

She never said it so bluntly before and even she felt the sting of her words.

Leonas's eyes snapped to hers, his brow furrowing as he heard her words. "You must be mistaken child. Howe would never-"

"Howe did," she snapped. "I was there, believe me. He murdered each and every person he could get his hands on. Oren and Oriana, Lady Landra and Ser Dairren, my mother and father, all of them."

The Arl leaned back in his chair, his eyes clouded as he listened to what she said. "Start from the beginning girl. Tell me everything."

And so she did. Every gory detail forever sculpted into her mind, every ounce of pain, up until the point of Zevran, of course she avoided mentioning the name of the assassin, simply mentioned that Howe had hired an Antivan Crow to get rid of her.

Halfway through the story, Leonas rose from his chair and faced the fire, his brow pinched between his forefinger and thumb.

"My dearest friends," he murmured before uttering a prayer to the Maker.

"Leonas, I came because I need help."

"Yes, I'd imagine you do. Without Fergus, the Cousland name falls to you. The responsibility of Highever, falls to you."

"I know," she murmured. "But beyond that, I swore vengeance on Howe."

"That, my dear, is something best left for later. Your main priority here must be your people and your land. You are the Teryna now, you must understand what that means. And if you don't, I will help you. Your people must always come first. Vengeance can come later. But what you expect me to do for you, I am not sure."

"I am not asking anything just yet. Friends of mine have suggested that I approach any who were loyal to my father and petition for help to reclaim my lands."

"You are asking for my troops?"

"I am," she murmured, wondering how this would go over. "There are others that I am going to visit after this. You were the first name that came into my mind, my father's friend and trusted ally."

He turned then and lowered back down next to her. "You must be careful Emma. Howe was a trusted friend to your father as well, no matter what I had to say on the matter. Loghain was a trusted friend to many of us. None of us would believe the words that have just come from your lips. Obviously I do, I know you, I know your family, and you would never deceive me. But you must be wary, there are those that would question otherwise. Loghain's influence reaches far. Many are loyal to him for all he has done for our country."

She nodded. While she might not have been the smartest when it came to politics, but that much she knew. It was part of the reason she decided to start here.

"You know you have my support," he finished with. "You always will. I could never leave a daughter of Bryce to the wolves. When the time comes you will have my troops. I loathe the idea of another civil war, but if it comes to that, then so be it. Howe must not be allowed this treachery."

"I thank you, Leonas."

"No need, my dear, no need. Now I assume your friend and you would like a chance to clean up," his eyes roved over her attire. "I will have a servant fetch you some clean clothes. I'd imagine you didn't have a chance to bring anything from home with you."

"Only these," she said, pointing to the blades strapped to her body.

"Yes," he laughed. "I'd imagine the weapons would be the things you were mostly focused on. It is good the family blade did not fall into Howe's hands."

The two rose together and Bryland called out for a nearby guard. "Please escort Lady Cousland and her friend to their rooms. You will remain by her side during her stay."

"Yes ser," the guard acknowledged before leading Emma and Zevran away.

The moment they were out of earshot, Zevran leaned in. "You trust this man?"

"With my life," she stated. "He and my father have been friends for a very long time."

"And it sounds like this Howe was as well, no?"

"I can't suspect everyone Zevran."

"No, that is why I am here."

To that, she couldn't help but smile. "Fair enough."

-oOo-

-Alistair-

Two more companions they'd added to their list. One Qunari and one chantry sister. When Gilmore had accepted the help of them, the Qunari he'd agreed with but the sister seemed, odd. Sure she could fight, but he was a little concerned about this 'vision from the maker' she'd spoken of.

g"Where should we head first?" Gilmore asked, approaching Alistair as they headed towards camp with their new companions in tow. Morrigan had not approved of either, which was what pushed him to side with Gilmore.

It was a good question. "The treaties are for the Dalish elves, the Dwarves of Orzammar, and the Circle Mages. I suppose it really doesn't matter which we go to first."

"I've always been curious about Orzammar," Gilmore suggested.

"Dwarves it is."

They approached the camp, Alistair's mind immediately wandering. He knew it was foolish to hope that maybe she had returned. Maybe she had changed her mind and actually wanted to travel with them. Entirely foolish, and yet he couldn't stop himself from hoping only to feel dejected when they made it back to camp and it was completely empty. No barking dog, and no dark haired beauty sitting on the log near the fire.

"Get it together," he growled to himself. He needed to stop thinking about her as difficult as that was proving to be.

"She'll be fine," Gilmore mentioned to him. "I've known her for most of our lives. She is the most resourceful woman I have ever met. And the most skilled in battle."

"Yes I saw that," he acknowledged. "But I also saw that she isn't the most fluent in politics."

Maker's breath, neither was he, but she was worse.

"Mmm," Gilmore hummed, chuckling under his breath. "Her father attempted multiple times to teach her. He'd call her into the room while he was dealing with business, but that girl only ever had one focus and I believe you saw that already when we were fighting the darkspawn."

Of that he had. He'd never known someone so skilled in battle before and he'd met enough to safely make that comparison.

Glancing slyly at Gilmore, he wondered if he could ask. He'd been dying to know more since she told him a little of what happened in Highever.

"Who was this 'man of interest' to her?" he asked quietly.

Gilmore's attention turned to Alistair, and he grinned. "Curious about that, are we?"

He gave a lithe shrug.

"His name was Dairren, the son of Bann Loren. He was scheduled to ride with the Teryn as his second to Ostagar, but obviously Howe changed that."

"And they were engaged?"

"Briefly," Gilmore responded. "I believe it had just been announced that night. My understanding was the Teryna and Lady Landra were ecstatic to hear it. He was a good man, I was distressed to learn of his and his mother's demise. Just another family destroyed by Howe."

For some reason it bothered Alistair to hear of this Dairren as a 'good man'. He stared over into the fire, his mind a million miles away.

"She is like a little sister to me," Gilmore finally spoke up after minutes had passed in silence.

"Yes I saw that."

"I say this for a reason. A sister is all she could ever be to me. I have known the Cousland's for a very long time and there have been _many_ that have expressed interest in the youngest. As for myself, my father is a lord of little more than a glorified farmstead. And while at one time, I also teased myself with the idea of being with one such as her, I will say to you what her brother said to me. My sister is not such a woman meant to marry the first man that would have her, but the first man that _she_ would have.

"I suppose there was something about Dairren that appealed to her. And his father is a Bann, which was more than my father ever was.

"Either way, she's a Cousland, Alistair. And you're a Grey Warden. No matter what you desire, there are certain expectations for her, especially now that she will be the Teryna. She requires a noble to marry. And while I am sure you are also a good man, while raised by Arl Eamon, a noble you are not. Do yourself a favor, friend, and forget about her."

Gilmore rose from his seat then and slowly approached the large Qunari. Alistair couldn't help laugh under his breath. It was a great speech, as far as speeches go. But it was delivered to the wrong guy. If ever Alistair had shown appreciation for his birth, now was it. While Gilmore might not have had the opportunity due to ranking, it was something Alistair could. Of course, by accepting that, he knew that meant they'd put a bid for him to take the throne. And that was something he wasn't ready for. He found himself cursing the damned Cousland family as he sat before the fire. His interest in her was more than he liked to admit. To have her meant he'd have to step up to his birth right. But if he was unwilling to do so, he'd lose her.

Even without her here at camp with him, the woman was still driving him insane.


	10. Chapter 10

**Thanks for all the reviews for the past few chapters! You guys have been great and I am glad everyone is enjoying the story :)**

* * *

><p>Chapter 10<p>

-Emma-

"Can I ask you a question, Zevran?"

"If it is a dirty question, certainly."

"Tell me a little of yourself," Emma laughed. Leonas had given them separate rooms but baring the situation, the two felt it wiser to stay in one together. Emma had given him the bedroll Bodahn had offered her. He seemed comfortable enough on the floor to the side of her bed.

"That is not a question."

When she didn't respond, he sighed and she could hear him shifting in his bedroll. "What do you wish to know?" he asked.

"Your accent, you're actually from Antiva?"

"Is that so surprising?"

"No," she murmured. "It's just I always heard that Antivan's are known for being good at everything but fighting."

His low chuckle was reassuring. "While that might be true, our assassins are some of the deadliest. No army has ever invaded, they fear us so."

"Not good enough, though," she teased.

His chuckle rose to a full laugh. "No, I suppose not. That, of course, doesn't say anything about me and much about you."

"Flatterer. What else can you tell me?"

"You would not enjoy living there."

"Why not?"

"Women have strictly defined roles in Antiva. They are considered pure and delicate and certainly do not participate in combat. You would loathe it, my friend."

"Have you been gone long?"

"Oh, not so long. But there are always things people miss of their home."

"Such as?"

"Mmm, the leather," he mused.

Emma couldn't help but laugh. "I asked about your homeland, not your leather fetish."

His chuckle turned a little dark. "I absolutely love the smell of the leather. Antiva is known for it."

"Have you always lived in Antiva?"

"Yes."

"What do you think of Ferelden?"

He gave another little laugh. "It is not like Antiva. Here, it's cold, wet, and smells like wet dog."

Her snicker was rather loud. "Oh yes, that sounds like Ferelden. Did you like being a Crow?"

"The Crows aren't so bad," he murmured sleepily. "They keep one well supplied: wine, women, men. Whatever you happen to fancy. Though the whole severance package is garbage, let me tell you. If you were considering joining, I'd really think twice about it."

"Well that shatters that dream," she joked.

"You seem talented enough on your own without having to resort to the Crows."

"Did you know much about me before accepting the job?"

He hummed his acknowledgement, but there was no other response. Scooting over on the bed, she glanced down to find the lanky elf tucked in her bedroll, curled onto his side and now gently snoring.

So much for that conversation, she laughed lightly under her breath, straightening back out in the bed.

Leonas had been true to his world and had sent out one of his servants. They had returned with what was almost an entire new wardrobe for her. Most of which she wouldn't be able to carry with her. Leonas had told her she could leave whatever she required to and he would bring it to her when she had her home back. But he insisted she carry a few selections as she couldn't approach other noble's while covered in dirt.

The one that had caught her eye was a leather travel vest. Zevran had showed quite an interest as well and now she understood why. But beyond that, it had many little hidden spots for small knives and daggers.

She forced her eyes shut, hoping to fall asleep soon, but her mind was too active. She found herself wondering where Gilmore and Alistair were at this moment. Were they still in Lothering? Or had they moved on as well? Part of her wished she was at the camp with them. Arl Bryland had been welcoming, of course, and it was nice to sleep in a bed instead of the cold hard ground, but there was simply something about Alistair that she missed. Maybe it was his quick humor or soft smile.

A few random words spilled out of Zevran's lips, something about a girl named Rinna. Emma listened for a bit, curious as to whom he was dreaming of, but nothing comprehensible was said afterwards.

Finally with a deep sigh, seated from boredom, she struggled in vain to turn her brain off. After what felt like hours had passed, she managed and fell into a light sleep.

-oOo-

"Where will you head next?" Leonas asked gently

"I was thinking Arl Wulff of the West Hills."

"The West Hills?" Leonas's eyes narrowed in on Zevran for some reason before he took her hand into his and lead her away. Emma took a chance to glance over her shoulder and noted that he followed anyways. Serious about his work, this one was. "Emma, word has it that the West Hills are under siege by darkspawn right now. It would be extremely dangerous for you to go there."

"Perhaps he could use some help," she offered. "And I'm sure he'd be much more accommodating after some assistance."

"Emma," Leonas snapped. "I am not talking about a few random incursions. I am talking full out war in the West Hills. Even my troops are armed and ready in case it moves north."

"I need all the help I can get. Don't fret Leonas."

"Maker watch over you my lady, for you obviously won't."

"That is my job," Zevran commented again.

"You better survive, I will not have your death on my conscience," he growled.

"I will be fine. Thank you again, for everything."

"Of course, child, of course." He bent down and scratched under Spartacus's chin. "Keep her safe boy."

The mabari gave a happy bark and circled once around her legs.

"If anything, he's bound to find me more danger," she teased to Zevran.

And then the three set off together, sacks packed, armed and ready for whatever it was that came their way next.

"How long is it until we reach this Arl Wulff?" Zevran finally asked after walking for an hour in silence.

"It's about half a day's travel from here."

"And might I ask your plan from there?"

"There are a few that I plan on approaching. Bann Franderel is from West Hill, that's to the north, west of Highever; Bann Sighard from Dragon's Peak, that's to the east, quite close to Denerim; Bann Alfstanna from the Waking Sea, to the north as well; and…" she faltered for one moment. "Bann Loren who is also north of Lothering."

Oddly enough Bann Loren was the one she loathed to visit the most; Dairren's father. How could she petition him for assistance when she couldn't even keep his wife and son safe? It was going to be a rather difficult visit, but she needed all the help she could get.

"Lastly, once I have a few nobles backing me, I hope to go to Arl Eamon."

"To what end?" Zevran asked quietly. "It was not only Howe present when the Crows were hired. There was another there, a rather taciturn fellow named Loghain. He seemed more preoccupied with ensuring all remaining Warden's were dealt with, but-"

"Wait, what?" Emma interrupted, turning to stare the elf in the face.

"What, what?"

"Was another Crow hired to deal with Alistair?"

"Oh, indeed."

"And you didn't mention this before?" she hissed, glancing down the road.

They weren't far from Lothering. If they hurried she could probably make it within an hour, but she didn't know if they were even there.

"This worries you?"

"Of course it worries me!" she shouted.

"Ah, my apologies then."

She just got the two of them back, she wasn't about to lose them to another assassination attempt.

"Who's the Crow?" she

"Could be any. It is whoever bids for the job. When I was there, another by the name of Nuncio was there, but so was one named Taliesen. It could be either."

"Zevran, we have to warn him!"

"And how do you purpose we do that? Do you know where they are at this exact moment?"

"N-no," she stuttered, staring down at Spartacus.

"Warden's are competent warriors. You were quite outnumbered by me and you survived. I am quite sure they will be fine."

"You can't know that," she mumbled miserably.

"Perhaps not, but I do know we cannot simply wander the countryside searching for Wardens. You have your own task to complete as do they. They will be fine. Have faith, Emma."

She continued on down the road, knowing his words were true.

"Indulge me, Emma, if you will," Zevran asked. "There are two Wardens left, are there not?"

She nodded, chewing on her bottom lip as she debated how to find them.

"And yet you only spoke of one, this Alistair."

A scarlet blush tinged her cheeks.

"Ah, I see," he laughed.

"See what?" she demanded.

But to that, he only chuckled louder.

"Come, let us petition this Arl Wulff so that we might found your lost Warden," Zevran teased, now leading the way to the West Hills.

She thought on his question. He was right after all, Gilmore had barely been a thought in her mind. The moment she heard an assassin had been hired to take out all remaining Grey Wardens, the only face in her mind was Alistair's.

She knew the moment they entered the Blightlands. All around her were the signs of decaying life. Browned grasses, wilting plants, dried and cracked soil. Even above them, the sky was smothered in thick, dark clouds that blotted out the sun. Harsh winds blistered her skin, the never ending howl like a high pitched wail to her ears.

"Did you hear that?" Zevran questioned, his smooth hand gently curving over her arm and drawing her back into the shadows. He pulled her into his body, his head hovering slightly above her. She was used to being a head shorter than everyone, but shorter than an elf? She couldn't help but shake her head.

"Listen," he encouraged, thinking she was answering him.

So she did. Her eyes fluttered shut and she quirked her head to the west. If she wasn't mistaken she could hear someone shouting and the sounds of a battle.

"Dare I ask if we are to help?" he murmured in her ear.

She shot him a scathing look before bolting out of the shadow and rushing towards the fight. She rounded a corner in time to stumble into a group darkspawn attacking what looked like a family of travelers.

Zevran and Emma launched into action, burying their blades deep into the creature's backs before they could realize they were being ambushed. All around them blades clashed and darkspawn blood stained their armor. A pulse of magic shot over Emma's head and brought down a Hurlock that was bearing down on her.

"Bethany!" she heard someone shout.

Emma spun in time to find a large ogre rushing towards them.

"Look out!" Emma cried. Before she could even think, she was dashing towards the young girl who was simply turning too slowly to protect herself from the massive creature.

Emma's feet pounded the ground as she pressed harder. Time seemed to slow as she rushed towards the girl. The beast reached for her, its fingers narrowly missing her just as Emma slammed into her side, knocking her to the ground.

Pain lanced up her side, however, when the creatures fingers instead locked around her and reefed her into the air.

"Emma!" Zevran shouted.

Her cries pierced even her own ears as the creature shook her to and fro, rattling every bone in her body. Never in her life had she felt such pain.

With a deep snarl the creature tossed her. She had a brief reprieve of the crushing pressure, the air whistling through her ears, until she connected with something hard, her entire body lighting with pain. The sound of shattering bone was something she hoped never to hear again, the feel of fragments splitting from her skin something she never wanted to feel again.

All around her were shocked cries and exclamations. Through a thick haze, she watched as blurred figures surrounded her, a familiar voice demanding that someone do something. That was the last thing she heard before darkness took over.

-oOo-

"An Antivan Crow," Alistair growled next to Gilmore.

"We have two options; we could question him to see who sent him or kill him right now."

"Are you trying to say you don't know who sent him? I think that's pretty obvious. Who, in all of Ferelden, wants the Wardens dead?"

"If you're suggesting Loghain-"

"You know I am."

"Then there really isn't anything else we need to know. Kill him."

"Wait!" Leliana exclaimed. "We cannot simply kill him."

"Why not?" Gilmore demanded. "He tried to kill us?"

"Because you might be interested in some information I have," the Crow piped up, grinning sickeningly at them.

"Really," Gilmore laughed. "I doubt that, but let's hear it."

"You were correct in believing it was Loghain who hired me. But there was another, a man by the name of Howe, who hired another Antivan Crow."

The party immediately went on guard. Gilmore pointed the tip of his blade in the hollow of the man's throat.

"Speak quickly, you're boring me."

"The Antivan Crows do not pay us for our silence and I was a witness to the other contract."

"Who was it for?" Alistair asked quietly, even though he had a feeling he already knew. There was only one person Howe would be interested in right now.

"I did not know the name, but my understanding was she is the daughter of a noble here in Ferelden. Some Cousland."

Ice slid into the pit of Alistair's stomach. It had been his suspicion, but hearing it aloud was so much worse.

The Crow turned his attention to Alistair, his eyes piercing through him. "And the best of the Crows was sent for that one. Something about her skills being unmatched by any. He never fails his mission."

The man opened his mouth to say something more, but was silenced permanently by the edge of Gilmore's blade slashing open his neck.

"What do we do?" Alistair asked.

"There is not much we can do. The Blight is our primary concern. If we do not follow through with it, there will be nothing left for _any_ of us to return to. You heard him, even the Crows know her skills. She will be fine Alistair."

He didn't like this one bit. Gilmore's words made sense, but at this moment, all he cared about was finding Emma and warning her.

"Focus, Alistair," he suggested. "We have our tasks, as does she."

The two men shared a glance until finally Alistair nodded. Even if he didn't agree with Gilmore, what could he do about it? As a Warden, he was tied to this task. He _had_ to stop the Blight.

"The Spoiled Princess is only about half a day's travel from here. Wouldn't hurt to stop there and resupply ourselves before continuing on to Orzammar." Gilmore suggested.

Alistair glanced to him. "The Spoiled Princess is at Calenhad's docks. We may as well deal with the mage treaty before moving onwards."

Gilmore nodded.

"The Circle Tower?" Morrigan piped up from the back. "You wish me, an apostate, to enter the Circle Tower?"

"Probably wouldn't be the ideal situation. We'll take Sten then, if you don't mind guarding camp."

"So long as I do not have to enter that infernal tower, I will go wherever."

"It's decided then. To Calenhad docks."

The party set out again, only a half a day away from their next target.

"Where do you think she is right now?" Alistair asked after a few moments of silence.

Gilmore shrugged. "I know she was intending to seek out Arl Bryland. But beyond that, I have no idea."

"Would she be safe with this Arl?"

"Safer than anywhere else at the moment. The Arl was a lifelong friend of her fathers. Do not worry Alistair. Now focus, we're almost to the Circle Tower and that will require everyone's attention."

Nodding, Alistair fell silent once more, following after Gilmore. He could hear Morrigan and Leliana moving behind them, arguing over the necessity of killing the assassin. Right now, he could care less of the assassin's death. Gilmore had been right, he had meant to take theirs. And with the knowledge that another was out there right now, hunting Emma, it only made him hate them all the more.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

-Emma-

Through the black haze and in the back of her mind she was aware of a shifting of her body. With every passing second, her bones seemed to reform and alter position. Finally a warming sensation spread over her that seemed to dull the numbing pain. It was then that she finally found enough of herself to open her eyes. All around her strange eyes were watching her and she sought out the only familiar face of the group. The elf was staring down at her, concern written in his face.

"Of all the foolish things to do," he scolded her gently.

A tiny smile curved her lips, her cheeks burning.

"Thank you," a soft voice interjected. "Had you not pushed me out of the way, that beast would have…" she swallowed.

The second girl gave her shoulder a comforting pat. "I'm just glad Bethany was able to heal you. That was one nasty fall you took there. You had to have broken almost every bone in your body."

"Forgive my sister," the one named Bethany said, smiling gently. She took Emma's hand into her own and helped her to her feet. Gasping, Emma doubled over, clutching at her side. Immediately Zevran was there, his fingers grazing her arm.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm sorry," Bethany murmured. "I did all I could. But there are some broken ribs still."

"You can't heal that?" Zevran demanded, his voice laced with anger.

Emma struggled to straighten, taking even breaths as she did. It was something her father had always taught her. Pain was always worse if you didn't breathe through it.

"I'm sorry," she whispered again. "I took care of the more life threatening ones. I'm not a spirit healer. And my sister has no healing talents whatsoever."

"It's fine Zev," Emma murmured. "Let's just be thankful I'm alive."

"Perhaps this Wulff has one that can help," he commented, glaring once at the mage before turning away. Spartacus whined anxiously at her side. With a calm smile, she latched her fingers into his fur.

"Wulff?" the male spoke up. Emma's gaze flicked up. He was clearly the warrior among them with his broadsword. Clearly Ferelden, she wondered how he managed to survive Ostagar. He must be a talented warrior, or a deserter. She wasn't sure which by looking at him and it seemed impolite to ask. Clearly the family was on the run, two of which were mages. Apostates, obviously. "The West Hills has been completely taken by the darkspawn. We just barely made it alive out of his lands."

Emma and Zevran shared a look. "And what of the Arl?"

"The last I heard he had to abandon his estate. I believe he was heading for Denerim. His sons fell fighting the blighted creatures."

"Are you quite positive?" Zevran asked.

"I know for a fact West Hills has fallen along with his sons. As for him heading to Denerim, that was a rumor."

"I'm sorry," the obvious mother spoke, "But if you aren't coming with us, we really need to keep moving, before more darkspawn arrive. We are eternally grateful for your assistance, my lady."

Zevran froze, his dark eyes roving the family.

"The weaponry, Zev," she whispered to him before turning back to the mother. "Be safe."

The mother's hand lightly fell on Emma's shoulder. Wincing, she fought back the whimper of pain threatening to slip out of her lips, apparently her ribs weren't the only issue. And then the family took off once more, the siblings arguing on their course of action. She couldn't help but smile as she watched them, slightly envious that their little family was still intact.

"Now what?" Emma murmured more to herself.

"Well, it would appear heading to this Arl's estate would be unwise. And if he is rumored to be traveling to Denerim, I'd rather not travel all the way into the Blightlands only to find that he is in fact gone. And if he is still in his estate, but West Hills has fallen, his troops would be of no use to you. The Arl would need to focus on restoring his own lands before worrying about restoring someone else's."

Everything Zevran said rang true. "He'll either be in Denerim, or not."

"Who is next then?" he asked.

"I suppose Bann Loren is the next. To the north."

"Ah, north, much safer lands. Works for me."

She took her first step since rising and faltered, her knees buckling under the magnitude of pain that suddenly assaulted her.

The quick stepping assassin was at her side almost instantly, his hands helping to keep her upright.

"Can you even travel?" he whispered softly.

"I have to," she chuckled lightly. "We're not staying here, that's for sure, especially if I can't fight."

"Perhaps we should stop along the way, somewhere safe, search for another mage?"

She didn't like the idea, but really, what choice did they have. She was trying her hardest to hide it, but even breathing hurt. She felt as though she'd been pounded into the ground, oh wait, that's exactly what happened.

She'd already been to Lothering and knew there was no one helpful there. Everyone was too focused on their own pain and demise and from her memory there weren't any mages. Where Chantry's stood, mages tended to avoid.

"Let's just continue onwards," she murmured. "Maybe we'll find a merchant along the way with some salves."

"Emma, you need to rest."

"No, I need to get this finished," she informed him. "The Spoiled Princess is along the way. My father mentioned that inn to me before. Said it had the best dwarven ale he'd ever tried. It's about a day's travel from here."

"Lead on then fearless leader," he teased. "I'm sure after a day's travel for you, you'll be crying for some ale."

From the burning pain ripping through her entire body with every step she took, she had no doubt.

-oOo-

-Alistair-

The situation with mages seemed dire. From the information gained from the former ferry man, Kester.

For some reason the templars were no longer allowing any access to and from the Tower. Gilmore was out there right now, discussing things with some templar named Carrol trying to convince him to let them across. Alistair, Leliana, and Sten had gone into the Spoiled Princess for supplies and to book a couple rooms for the night. It was getting quite dark out and Gilmore had a feeling his negotiations would take to the morning.

Alistair hated simply sitting around, doing nothing. It allowed his mind to wander and he hated it.

"They tell me you were a templar," the sister, Leliana, murmured next to him.

"I was trained as one," he murmured around his mug. "But never took my vows."

"Would it not be beneficial then for you to be out there with Gilmore talking to the templar?"

He shook his head. "You're either a templar, or you're not. There's no half way. It won't matter if it's Gilmore doing the negotiating, or me."

"You seem disturbed by something?" she commented.

He tossed back the drink, "Do I?"

Of course he was. Here he was, sitting in an inn, no idea as to where Emma might be while knowing there was an assassin hunting her. Duncan was dead, along with all the Wardens, leaving simply Gilmore and himself to sort out the country's issues, while dealing with a Teryn they had once thought they could trust, only to find out he was the main catalyst behind all the issues. With no King on the throne, no leader to direct Ferelden into the oncoming battle, and no idea how to save the country, disturbed really didn't seem the right word.

"Everything will work out Alistair," she murmured.

The sound of a door slamming open drew everyone's eyes to the front of the inn. Alistair watched through narrowed eyes as a lanky blonde elf stepped through, dragging behind him a very familiar female.

"Emma!" Alistair shouted, leaping off the barstool and rushing towards her.

The elf turned immediately, his hands releasing the woman to reach for his blades. She slipped to the ground in a heap, unmoving.

Adrenaline infused him as he barreled down on them. Before the elf could draw his weapons, Alistair swung around his shield and slammed it into his face, throwing him into the wall. He never saw the elf fall. Taking the hit in stride, he vanished into the shadows a second before launching himself back out, his blades slashing the air where Alistair's face had been.

Alistair ducked in time for the elf's blades to ricochet off his armor. He swung his shield out once more and caught him in the knees, knocking the elf back once more. With a loud cry, he swung his sword down, the tip reflecting off the ground as the elf rolled, his leg lashing out. Alistair staggered back, deflecting another attack as the elf leapt around him, searching for a weakness.

In the back of his mind, he acknowledged that someone was shouting, but with every advance of the elf, he had to counter, pushing him back.

Just as his sword was about to sweep down again, the blade shimmering as it closed in on the elf's neck, she was there, suddenly standing between them.

Cursing, he altered the angle, the blade deflecting off the wall as he struggled not to run her through. Palms out, she stood between the two, glaring as much as she could. About to speak, she took a step towards Alistair. He noticed immediately that her balance waivered. Dropping his shield and sword to the ground, he reached for her just before she collapsed.

"I can take her," the elf dared to suggest, reaching for her at the same time.

What wasn't lost on Alistair was the Antivan accent.

He wrenched Emma away from him and helped her over to the nearest table, lowering her down into a chair. As he settled her, his hand closed on one of her daggers. Spinning, his fist latched into the collar of the elf's shirt peeking under his armor before slamming him into the wall, the tip of the dagger hovering just above his throat.

"One move, assassin, and I'll run you through faster than you can blink," he growled.

"Alistair," he heard her weak voice. Every fiber of his being was tempted to turn to her, just to see her, but he knew not to break contact with the elf.

"This is him?" the elf questioned, leaning over Alistair's shoulder to find her.

"Yes."

"Well now," the elf mused. "Handsome enough, for sure, with a hint of an air about him. So this is a Grey Warden? I suppose I should not be insulted that I was bested, yet again."

"You're a Crow," Alistair growled, shaking him roughly.

"While I do enjoy a little manhandling now and then friend, now is not the time."

"I'm not your friend, elf."

"Alistair," Emma tried again. "He won't hurt me."

Sneering, Alistair pushed the blade further against his neck, satisfied when a trickle of blood stained the steel. "He's a Crow."

"Yes, we've already established this. Perhaps a little assistance?" he asked, glancing at Emma once more.

And then her shaky hand was on him, her fingers trailing his arm until she reached the hilt of the dagger.

Her blue eyes flashed at him once, a tiny hint of a smile, before she gently removed the dagger from his hand and limped back over to the chair.

"Here," he heard Leliana whisper to Emma.

"What's this?"

"A poultice for you. Poor dear, you look dead on your feet."

"Yes," the elf commented. "We had a rather violent run in with a rather large Ogre. Now, will you release me Grey Warden? Or are things going to have to get… physical again?"

"No," was all Alistair said.

"Alistair, please," Emma murmured. "Yes, he's a Crow, but he's helping me now. His name is Zevran."

He scoffed under his breath, shaking the elf roughly before finally releasing him. "Helping you?"

"Quite," the elf said. "We both are in need of protection from certain people and we have come to an arrangement to help one another."

"You're an assassin, the only person you care about is yourself."

"Touché," he laughed. "But people change, no?"

"No."

Shrugging, Zevran stalked over to the table and took a seat by Emma. "If I still desired to kill her, I would have done so earlier; I would not have allowed the mage to heal her." The elf shot him a scathing look, "Or perhaps last night while she slept."

Fury burned through his veins. He knew the elf was spurring him on, but Maker help him, it was working.

"You need a room and some rest," he finally mumbled, waving towards the innkeeper.

"We're full up," the innkeeper stated apologetically as he rounded the counter. "You and your companions booked the only rooms available."

The girl's room was full, and Gilmore and Alistair had meant to share one as well, leaving Sten to his own but he preferred it that way. And there was no way he was letting the elf stay with her, Sten would have to make room for another.

"Fine," he nodded, helping her slowly to her feet and nodding towards Leliana. Smiling, she lifted her sack and followed after him.

"Just where do you think you are taking her?" Zevran questioned, rising from his chair just as quickly.

"To my room, she needs rest."

"And what of me?"

"I don't care what you do," he grumbled, "But you're not staying anywhere near her."

The blasted smile the elf fed him was infuriating, but he kept his cool

"Perhaps this lovely sister would accommodate me. The Chantry has always been a favorite reprieve of mine."

"Zev," Emma sighed.

"Worry not for me," he teased. "I will be here when you are well. I'll leave you and your Warden to sort things out."

Jaw tight, Alistair tried to ignore that she had a little nickname for him already. He bloody well leaves her alone for a matter of days and she is already befriending foreign assassins, bent on killing her no less.

Leliana skirted around the front of him to open the door, holding it for them as they stumbled inside.

He helped her onto the bed as gently as her could, noting that she cupped her side. The moment she was seated, he released her and turned away, allowing Leliana to help her. They'd kept themselves stock with poultices and salves, something he was now grateful for.

"You're angry," she whispered, but her voice carried across the room.

Yes, he was, but it wasn't something to be discussed in front of Leliana.

"Alistair, I know what I'm doing."

But apparently she was going to insist on it. Seething, he kept quiet.

"Zevran was sent after me by Howe. When he failed, he proposed we worked together. He needs to hide from the Crows and I needed someone to watch my back."

"I'm sure he'll watch it well, up until the moment he stabs you in it."

He caught a sigh and he turned to find Leliana sneaking out of the room.

"Better?" he asked gently.

"Much."

"What happened?"

"We were on our way to Arl Wulff when we ran into a family fighting the darkspawn. Things got a little out of hand," she said with a light shrug.

"You could have died, you shouldn't be fighting them."

"Last I recall, you tried to recruit me into your little party," she smiled.

"Yes, and you chose politics, not darkspawn."

"Well, I wasn't entirely looking for them. The Blightlands are named such for a reason. What are you doing here?"

"The Circle Tower is one of our stops, but there's been a bit of a delay. Where are you heading from here?"

"Ban Loren. I'll be out of your hair shortly."

"Emma," he murmured, approaching the bed slowly. "You know you're always welcome where I am."

A deep blush colored her cheeks as she glanced away. How he'd missed that and it'd only been a few days.

Colored petals caught his eye on the table next to his bed; the rose he'd picked in Lothering. He'd been debating giving it to her, but was still too nervous to do so.

Rising from the bed, she headed towards the door. "I'll get some rest in Leliana's room."

He got to the door before her, his hand holding it shut. "You can sleep here, Emma. I don't mind and I doubt you'd want to stay with Morrigan."

She glanced up at him and then to the bed. "You wouldn't mind me staying here?

"You can have the bed, I'll take the floor."

"Oh Alistair," she murmured. "I couldn't put you out like that, honestly. I'm fine now, Zevran and I can move on-"

"No," he stated. "You're not leaving in the middle of the night after the state that blighted elf brought you in."

She must have seen something in his face because finally she nodded and with a small smile, turned back towards his room, his bed.


	12. Chapter 12

**This chapter is for SadieV!**

**Sorry it took so long for an update, work was a little exhausting this week! But I am hoping to put up 2 more chapters before the weekend is out! I'd always been curious as to how Alistair and the Warden (in this case Emma) would behave in camp the nights they weren't off battling someone. So that's the point of the first half of the chapter! Hope you all enjoy :)  
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><p>Chapter 12<p>

"Alistair?" he heard her little voice, muffled slightly into the blankets.

"Mmm?" He tried to make it sound like he'd been asleep and not completely aware of her every movement. In fact, even now he was aware of her shifting on the bed, rolling towards him, her fingers hanging over the edge of the bed. All he had to do was reach out and… but he couldn't.

"Thank you for helping me out this afternoon."

"Anytime Emma."

"And for understanding about Zevran."

He remained quiet at that one. He did _not_ understand why she was traveling with that elf, but he had a feeling pushing the matter would only upset her.

He'd taken the floor and given her his bed. The other bed across the room remained empty as Gilmore continued to argue with the templar by the lake, still trying to get them passage. He'd debated taking it, at least until Gilmore came in for the night, but he could admit, at least to himself, that he didn't want to be that far from Emma. Here, on the floor next to her, he could pretend they were at camp again, sleeping side by side.

"So how did you become a Grey Warden?" she asked after a few moments of silence.

He could hear the exhaustion in her voice, but for some reason she wanted to make conversation. Of course, the specifics weren't entirely something he could talk to her about.

"Well," he started, rolling on his side to face the bed, his eyes lingering on her tiny little fingers. "I told you I was sent to the Chantry by Isolde and was training to be a templar. Duncan came, searching for Wardens, I'd imagine, and saw me," he stated, hoping his voice hid the pain he felt speaking of him. "I think he could tell I wasn't happy where I was, and my training as a templar already made me an effective warrior with talents usable against the darkspawn. He had to force the conscription because the Reverend Mother didn't want to let me go. She was quite upset when he did."

"Why do you think she was so upset?"

"Maker knows," he responded quietly. "I'm nothing special. I think she was just afraid to lose a possible templar. They don't like giving up ones that know all their secrets."

"Secrets?"

He couldn't help but grin. "I'm not giving them up that easily woman."

"And why do you think Duncan was so insistent on you becoming a Warden?"

"I don't know," he murmured. "I've often wondered the same thing myself. Maybe he saw something promising."

He felt the bed shift next to him and he glanced up in time to catch a flicker of her eyes as she rolled to face him.

"I know I do," was all she said before rolling back over, her fingers still dangling so close to him.

The room fell silent for a moment as her words sunk in. A little string of hope grew within him. His entire life he'd been treated like nothing. Those that knew of his birth hated him for who he was and those that didn't always thought he'd put on airs. Of course, Emma didn't know anything about his birth yet, so who knew if her point of view on him would change. He'd be stupid to believe it wouldn't. It always did.

With a sigh, he glanced up at the bed once more. "Emma…" he hedged.

Her eyes flashed down at him once more.

His lips parted, but the words lodged in his throat. All he had to do was spew out the words 'I'm King Maric's son' and be done with it, problem solved, her opinion on him would change, and he could go back to the task he'd been given, his mind cleared of her. But then he caught her small little smile, saw the trust within her eyes and couldn't do it.

"Where are you heading tomorrow?" was instead what fell out of his lips.

"Oh," she mumbled, "to Bann Loren."

There was something in her voice, a tone of dejection.

"This is bad?" he questioned.

She was so quiet that for a moment he wondered if maybe she'd fallen asleep. Just about to settle himself in for the night, she turned over once more and glanced down at him, her chin resting on her arm.

"Bann Loren is Dairren's father."

The little green monster rose within his chest but he battled it back. It was unnecessary, the man was dead, and there was no way they could ever be together.

"And this troubles you?"

He obviously knew of the man, but he didn't know enough of the story to understand why she could be bothered to seek out his father.

"I haven't had the opportunity to speak with him since the attack on my home. This will be the first time."

Alright, that certainly would be reason enough to loathe seeing someone. He couldn't imagine how awkward of a visit that would be.

"He must hate me," she whispered so quietly he almost missed it.

"Who?" he asked, suddenly lost as to who they were speaking of.

"Bann Loren."

Alistair glanced up at her once more, slightly confused.

"I should have kept him safe," she whispered. "His and his mother's safety was my family's responsibility the moment they crossed onto our lands. I should have been more vigil, I should have known something was wrong. I should have questioned the reasoning behind Howe's troop's late arrival. There are many things I could have done, should have done. But I hadn't and now he and his mother lie in ashes."

"Emma," he gasped, rising up from the bedroll to her level.

"And now I will be seeking him out to request his assistance against Howe's men. I don't even know if the news has reached him yet of his family's murder. There's no one left in Highever who would know to notify him. That responsibility would fall to my mother, but she's…"

She faded off.

Even in the dark he caught the welling of tears within her eyes. Instinctively he reached towards her, his fingers gently caressing against her cheek.

"Emma, there is no force alive that could have predicted what Howe was planning to do. It is only by some miracle that you managed to escape with your life. Bann Loren would never blame you. I would bet my most expensive cheese that he blames Howe. And if I'm right, that means he will gladly assist you in anyway."

She managed a watery smile, her eyes fluttering shut as he continued to stroke her jaw.

"Holding yourself responsible for things you could never control is silly. All you can do is move forwards and be thankful every day that you survived and make the bastard pay."

He caught a crooked smile, pleased that he'd managed to cheer her up. But then she threw him with her next statement.

"Shouldn't you be telling yourself that?"

"What?" he questioned.

"You've been holding yourself responsible for Duncan's death. Everything you just said to me applies to you as well. So live what you preach Warden," she teased lightly.

He gazed down at her, her words echoing in his head but not what he was focusing on. He couldn't help but notice just how close to her he was. His fingers lay resting gently against her shoulder and she wasn't shying away from him. In fact, her gaze seemed to be burning through him.

Feeling brave, he brushed a stray lock from her cheek, tucking it behind her ear. Before he even realized it, he was inching forwards, closing the distance between them. She had been the only thing he could think of since meeting her and now they were alone and he was millimeters away from kissing her; from kissing a Cousland no less.

For the first time in a long time, his mind was rid of all thoughts of his future, all thoughts on the wellbeing of the country. All he could think about was the woman lying just beside him, her large blue eyes fluttering shut with every passing second that he neared her.

The moment his lips touched hers, a flurry of excitement leapt into his heart. His finger's drifted from her shoulders back to her face, his palm cupping her cheek. At her tiny sound of encouragement, he tilted to the side, changing the angle and deepened the kiss. He couldn't even describe his euphoria when she responded, her lips parting against his.

At the sensation of falling, he slowly drew back, a little afraid of what he'd see in her face. Part of him couldn't believe he'd kissed her. In retrospect it seemed like a foolish thing to do. Getting involved with a Cousland essentially laid his entire future out before him. And yet the other half couldn't resist her. There was something strong, and yet terribly vulnerable about her. Whenever he was near her, he felt as though his head would explode, he couldn't think of anything other than her. But when he looked into her eyes, there was no fear or anger.

"Emma," he rumbled, unsure of what to say, now that he was realizing the magnitude of his feelings for her.

Before she could respond, a sliver of light suddenly crawled into the room, edging over the bed and flashing over the two of them. Alistair dropped quickly back down onto his bedroll, cursing everything under the Maker the moment Gilmore stepped within the room.

Alistair's pulse thundered in his ears as he waited for the other Warden to start berating them. But Gilmore stumbled into the room, wiping exhaustion from his eyes.

"Oh good, you're still awake," he commented when glancing over at him. "I finally convinced the templar to take us across, but I need some sleep first. We'll leave at first light."

"I should as well," Emma commented quietly.

Grumbling something about sleep, Alistair watched as he collapsed onto his bed, burying his head under his pillow. Within minutes he was snoring lightly.

"Goodnight Alistair," he heard her murmur above him.

He flicked his glance up to find her smiling down at him. Suddenly warm right down to his toes, he grinned back before pulling the covers up over him. He drifted off to sleep, his mind already a thousand miles away, dreaming of warmer places and soft arms wrapped around him.

-oOo-

-Emma-

"Be safe," Emma whispered to him the moment everyone else's attention was directed elsewhere. The moment their gazes met, she simpered and ducked, her cheeks flashing red.

"You as well," he smiled.

She wished she could say more but of course Gilmore took that moment to walk over and clap her on the back. Yesterday that would have lit her entire body with pain, but today it was nothing more than a mild nuisance.

"Knock some heads for us," Gilmore chuckled.

She couldn't help but notice the furtive glance he threw to Alistair. Unsure of what it was about, she merely nodded.

"If the situation is as grave in the tower as you explained, than good luck to you as well. You two be careful. I've heard horror stories of abominations," she mentioned with a shudder.

Gilmore leaned in for a quick hug, ruffling her hair as he backed off.

"Come on," Alistair grumbled to the man. "Let's get this over and done with."

With one last wary glance, Emma watched as the group marched off towards the boat the templar waited with.

"No more longing glances," Zevran laughed as he sidled up next to her. "Now, let's be off before the two of you make me nauseous."

Chuckling under her breath, she followed after him, unable to resist glancing back once more.

That kiss last night had been much more than she'd bargained for. When he'd first offered her bed to him, little butterflies had fluttered through her stomach. And then when he'd laid out his bedroll right next to the bed, it'd doubled. But that was nothing compared to the searing burn of that kiss. Even now she could feel his lips against hers. For a moment, all she'd felt was absolute bliss. Then when they broke off and he'd fallen asleep, the guilt had settled in. She'd never felt anything of that magnitude with Dairren. She'd never even know that enormity of feelings was possible. And now she was off to find his father to beg for his help, all the while her mind focused on another man.

It was becoming too much. Her stomach was fluttering with anxiety, to the point where she was feeling queasy.

Bann Loren's land was to the northeast, approximately two hours travel from the Spoiled Princess. Sickened, she struggled to clear her mind. Belaboring on it wouldn't help, but it seemed impossible to clear her thoughts of him at all. Especially when worrying about their own safety.

Zevran shot her a curious look from the corner of his eye with each sigh.

"Dare I ask what is bothering you?"

With a shake of her head, she turned her attention to the oncoming road. "Nothing worth speaking of."

"So it's about that Warden then."

She flashed him a warning look.

"He is rather impressive, I will give him that. A little of a cheat when fighting."

To that she couldn't help but laugh. "Like you aren't? You're an assassin."

"I did not say it was a bad thing, merely commenting. And he is certainly handsome enough. All in all, he seems a decent choice."

This time she didn't answer. Hearing Zevran's words, she suddenly realized that wasn't true. If she was to fight for her land, that meant she was to be the Teryna, which meant she could only marry a noble. The people wouldn't accept anything less. A commoner was not befitting the daughter of a Cousland. How could she not have realized that earlier? Even with everything that had been happening, that should have been the first thought that occurred to her.

"Zevran, please," she whispered. "Let's just get to Bann Loren so we can move on."

"Why are you in such a rush to deal with this man?"

Yet another question she wasn't in the mood to answer. So instead she merely shook her head and continued on down the road, her mood plummeting with every step she took.

-oOo-

"Emma, is that you?" the man standing in the doorframe murmured when he caught sight of her.

"Hello Loren," she murmured.

"Maker's breath, girl, they told me you were dead!" he exclaimed, rushing forward and taking her hand into his.

The moment her eyes locked onto him, she grimaced. He looked as though he'd aged a decade since the last time she saw him. Of course, she imagined she didn't look that great either. Losing one's families tended to weigh heavily on people.

"Who told you that?" she asked.

"The messenger who brought news of my sweet Dairren and Landra's fate. He told me the entire Cousland line had been wiped out, along with mine."

"Who is the messenger?" she demanded.

"I've never met him," he told her. "He was paid to seek me out to deliver the information. He didn't know who hired him. But I am so happy to see you're alive. This is good news." He turned expecting eyes towards her. "Does that mean the other information is exaggerated as well? Does Dairren live? He told me of your news before he left, swore me to secrecy not to tell his mother as he wanted to tell your family with her."

His eyes shot over her shoulder, obviously expecting Dairren to sweep through the entryway as they spoke.

"I'm afraid not," she grumbled. "I was the only survivor."

Watching his face crumble in pain was worse than she could have possibly imagined.

"I am so sorry about Dairren and Landra," she continued. "If only I'd been closer, or heard the attack sooner, perhaps I could have saved them."

Shaking his head, Bann Loren took her hand into his and seated them both. "That was not your responsibility. And I know with all my heart if you had been nearer you would have done something. My condolences over your family, though, my dear. Losing the Cousland's is a devastating blow to Ferelden."

"Loren, I need your help," she announced.

"With what?"

"Retaking my lands. I don't know if you've heard or not, but Howe has set himself up in Highever as the new Teryn. I swore vengeance to my father before watching as the bastard ran my mother through."

Sighing, Loren leaned back in his chair. "I don't know what your plan of action, but you do know there is a Blight going on right now, yes?"

This wasn't the reaction she'd been expecting. Scowling, she leaned closer. "Of course I am aware of that."

How could she not. Alistair at this moment was risking his life to help save Ferelden.

"Tell me how you expect to take back your lands? Every available soldier will be locked into the King's army, preparing for battle."

"There is no King," she scoffed.

"Loghain has set himself up as one. And he is calling for troops to assist in fighting them. Howe is by his side even as we speak. So how do you propose to retake your lands?"

"Look," she growled. "I don't know how long it will take. Even if I have to wait for the Blight to end before addressing this issue, I will. All I need is the assistance of all the nobles. Perhaps I can bring this to a Landsmeet, bring Howe to justice for murdering both of our families. I thought this is what you'd want?"

"Of course that's what I want. Your mother and father have been lifelong friends of mine. And you know I want my own vengeance for the murder of my wife and son. But we must be realistic. Until the Blight ends and Howe returns to either Amaranthine or Highever, he is untouchable."

"Just promise me your help and let me sort everything else out. I don't know my next course of action. All I know is I need the nobles of Ferelden to back me and then I will go from there."

"You know I will always assist you. You are the true ruler of the land. But you need to be careful. If Howe learns that you are alive, he will send every force after you that he can muster. And if you die, the truth dies with you. You should remain here until this Blight mess is done."

"Remain here?" she asked incredulously. "Howe infiltrated Highever and slaughtered everyone in his way. Do you think he couldn't do the same here? The more I move around the safer everyone is. And I am not alone. I do have help."

"So I see," he murmured, flicking a glance over to Zevran who stood stoically against the wall. "Emma, just be safe. These are dangerous times right now. They aren't safe for anyone."

"No, that they aren't. Thank you Loren. We'll be on our way." She rose from the seat and smiled gently at him. "And from the bottom of my heart, I am sorry about Dairren."

The shadow behind his eyes seemed to darken once more with the mention of his son's name.

"Whatever becomes of Howe," he grumbled. "I only hope it brings both of us peace. Maker watch over you, Emma."

"You as well," she smiled before turning to leave, nodding to Zevran to follow.

The moment they left the estate, Zevran's soft voice came. "So that is why you dreaded coming here. You were betrothed to this Dairren?"

Grimacing, she averted her attention.

"And now you have feelings for this Warden. How interesting. You certainly like to keep things interesting."

"Tell me about it," she grumbled.

"Alright, where to now fearless leader?" he teased.

"To Bann Alfstanna of the Waking Sea," she announced before whistling for Spartacus.

The mutt came loping over, a large grin pulling up his massive lips.

"That is a long walk," Zevran complained gently.

Laughing, she nodded, her fingers tangling in the mutt's fur before leading the way.


	13. Chapter 13

**Every time I played the fade and saw Alistair's little dream, it always bothered. So I wrote my own. I hope everyone enjoys it :)**

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><p>Chapter 13<p>

-Alistair-

He draped a lazy arm around the tight little body pressed against him and tucked her into his chest. A smile tugged at his lips when his fingers splayed across her center. Enjoying the warmth growing in his gut, he buried his nose into the base of her neck, her hair tickling his cheek.

"Mmm," he hummed against her, grinning when her little backside brushed against him. "We should wake up like this every morning."

Brushing the long black hair away from her neck, she turned, her bright eyes softening with emotion.

"We can you know," she murmured, scooting closer and brushing her warm lips against his.

"Deal," he chuckled deeply. "So what are we doing today?"

"Anything you want, love."

Love. From the deep seated pit of satisfaction he realized how much he enjoyed that. With a low groan, he pulled her on top of his chest, her hair fanning out over his face. The two giggled together, his fingers crawling gently beneath her shirt. Her skin was so soft and flushed against him.

"So long as there is no Darkspawn or politics, I'm game," he suggested.

"You never have to deal with them again. It's just you and I here, no one will ever bother us again."

Grinning, he pulled her down and brushed his lips against hers, his hand cupping against the back of her head.

Bliss wrapped its warm little fingers around his heart and squeezed. He'd never felt anything like this before, never had the opportunity. And of course, he'd never met anyone like her before. Who would have thought he'd find his happiness in a Cousland? But it was more than that, she was everything he'd ever hoped for or wanted. She was everything he'd never even thought to want.

His hands curved over her backside, drawing her even closer. He was so preoccupied with her that he barely noticed someone knocking on a door. It wasn't until Emma squirmed lower and whispered – "Ignore it," that he realized there actually was someone knocking.

"We should-"

Her teeth grazed against the lobe of his ear, her fingers creeping up his back. "No, we shouldn't. It's only you and me, Alistair. You don't want that to go away, do you?"

"No," he groaned the moment she began nibbling her way down his neck.

"No," she repeated, her breath like a whisper against his skin.

The moment she claimed his lips, his surroundings faded away. All he could focus on was her. But the knocking only grew louder. He was even sure he could hear someone shouting his name.

"Who's there?" he murmured against her mouth.

"Just me," she whispered, rising back so all he could see were her bright blue eyes.

"Just you."

Smiling, she ducked down once more.

"Alistair!" a deep voice shouted at him. "You need to wake up!"

"Wake up," he repeated.

"No," she crooned.

"Emma, what's going on?"

"Alistair!" someone shouted again. A sharp sound exploded by his ear but when he glanced up, no one was there. He was still alone, with Emma, in their room.

"What's going on?"

"Nothing's going on, love."

Frowning, his hands curved around her waist and flipped her back over to her side of the bed.

"Alistair," she murmured, reaching for him once more.

"Alistair! Wake up! This is the fade, this isn't real. You need to focus!" that voice sounded familiar.

"Gilmore?"

A rift in the fabric of reality tore right above Alistair's head, splitting his world in two. To his left lay the woman of his dreams, her face peaceful and full of bliss as she gazed upon him. To his right was a fracture the size of the bed and on the other side was Gilmore, staring down at him with disdain darkening his features.

"He is mine," a deep voice growled next to him.

Alistair glanced next to him, only to find what once had been Emma now a demon, steam billowing from her horns.

It was then the fracture split open, the entire dream shattering around him.

With a low shout Alistair leapt off the bed, staggering backwards. What had once been their happy little home was now a desolate wasteland.

"Emma," he whispered.

"This was never Emma," Gilmore informed him. "This is the fade, Alistair. Remember, the sloth demon sent us here."

He couldn't even describe the despair that was crawling through his gut. He'd been so happy, so content in her arms. To have it all ripped away from him was devastating.

"He is ours," the creature snarled.

There was nothing left of his Emma, nothing soft or caring. They had stolen her from him and left him instead with this blighted creature.

A low howl of pain freed itself from his throat a second before he clasped the hilt of his sword and pinned it through her chest.

He watched, blinking back the hot tears that were welling up, as she dropped to the ground, her body melting back into that of Emma's, one last cruel trick of the fade to play on him. He couldn't tear his eyes off her. He'd never imagined seeing her like this, her lithe body curled around his blade, her blue eyes fading.

It took every last bit of his restraint to keep him away. He kept telling himself over and over it wasn't _actually_ Emma; it was a demon, playing tricks on him. But it was hard to convince himself of that when he was staring down at her dying body.

"Come on," Gilmore murmured, his gloved hand falling gently on his shoulder.

Alistair could see the sight was bothering him as well. Nodding, the two turned, but before he could take a step, everything began to fade before his eyes and he returned to a state of consciousness.

-oOo-

-Emma-

"Finally," Zevran breathed as they stared up at the estate. "I was beginning to think we'd never arrive."

Emma nodded her agreement. The past two days of travel had been tiring and as Zevran already stated, never ending. But finally, here they were, in the Waking Sea.

"So who are we visiting here?"

"Bann Alfstanna," she commented. "To be honest, I'm not sure what to expect. My father spoke of her, but they were never close. "

"Do you think she'll be of assistance?"

Emma gave a small shrug. "I don't know. I guess we'll find out."

"Indeed."

Spartacus dropped his nose down to the ground and drifted forwards. The two followed after him, the sound of voices growing louder with every step.

"No, we need Loghain now more than ever. The Darkspawn grow closer to us with each passing day. If we do not have him, we are doomed," Emma heard someone say.

Holding a finger up to her lips, cautioning Zevran to be silent, the two crept a little closer, eavesdropping.

"Alfstanna, now is not the time for naivety. You have heard the rumors as much as I. You have seen the truth as Loghain set himself up as regent. You must know something is wrong in Ferelden. You cannot truly believe that he called his troops back to stop them from being slaughtered? No honorable man would abandon the King on the battle field, regardless of the presence of the Wardens. None of this adds up."

"Who is that?" Zevran whispered in her ear.

The two were gazing around the corner, watching the two in their heated discussion.

"The woman is Bann Alfstanna," she responded. "And the other is Bann Franderel. He is the Bann of the West Hill."

Zevran drew back, his brow furrowing. "I thought this Wulff was the Arl of West Hill."

Smiling, Emma shook her head. This had confused her once as well. "Arl Wulff leads the West Hills, not to be confused with the fortress of West Hill, which is what Franderel leads."

He just shook his head and returned to listening.

"Whether the rumors are true or not, Ferelden needs a strong leader right now. We must be there for him."

"He is not the true King!" Franderel exclaimed.

"There is no true King right now. We must support whoever is strong enough to lead us."

"There is another," Franderel murmured.

Shocked, Emma glanced back at Zevran, her curiosity spindling. She'd never heard talk of any other.

"No," Alfstanna shook her head. "There is _no_ other. He would never be accepted."

"It doesn't matter whether or not he could be accepted. The point remains that he is the last remaining Theirin. He is the only link left to their bloodline."

"He is a bastard."

Emma leaned a little closer, dying to know who this man was they were speaking of. Her father had never mentioned another heir to the throne. As far as she knew the only child of Maric was Cailan and he died at Ostagar.

"So you would have us side with Loghain then?"

"I would have us side with any who is strong enough to lead. Loghain has proved himself on more than one occasion. This one stain on his record changes nothing."

"It changes everything!" Franderel hissed. "He betrayed the King. That's all that matters. And he's aiding Howe."

"Howe? What does that have to do with anything?"

"You heard of Highever, did you not? The man slaughtered the entire Cousland line to gain a larger title. He's set himself up as the Teryn, and now the Arl of Denerim as well, along with Amaranthine."

"That's a lot of titles," Zevran commented.

"I've heard talk that not all the Cousland line was destroyed," Alfstanna murmured quietly.

Emma leaned dramatically around the corner. This was, after all, why she came.

"What?" Franderel questioned. "Does Fergus still live?"

"No, the youngest."

"Emma," he stated. "If any could survive an attack of that magnitude, it would be her."

"So I hear."

"And where did you hear she was still alive?"

"Rumor has it she spent a week in Lothering, drinking before some Wardens came and took her away."

"Wardens?" he gasped. "I thought they all died at Ostagar?"

"No, apparently a few survived. I don't know their names, but there it is."

"How intriguing, and while what happened to the Couslands is devastating, the Blight is the main concern here."

Emma tapped Zevran's shoulder and nodded back the way they came.

When they were out of range, Zevran's hand fell on her shoulder turning her back around.

"I thought you wished to speak with them?"

Emma kept moving, her thoughts a little muddled and far off.

"Emma?"

"I just…"

"What?" he asked softly.

"I don't know. I just didn't want to speak with her."

"I thought you wanted to take back your land though?"

"I do. It's just how are they going to help me Zev? I mean really think about it, you heard everything they said. Everything was all rumors. The two of them couldn't even decide whether or not they were going to side with Loghain. How will they help me? Honestly."

Zevran flicked a glance back to where they came.

"Loren said the same thing. The Blight is going to be everyone's concern. You heard them. They know about what Howe did to my family, they know he's taken the land, but do any of them care? Is anyone doing anything about it?" Her voice broke as she said the words. "All they care about is their own lands, protecting their people from the Blight. And in all fairness, I understand that. It's what I want for my people too. Wandering Ferelden looking for nobles to help me is a waste of my time and energy. Not when there are more important things going on."

"So what are you suggesting we do then?"

She fell quiet, her thoughts spinning through her mind. She'd sworn vengeance to her parents, but Loren's and even Bryland's words came back to her. Both had told her the Blight was the main concern for Ferelden. And they were right. What happened to her home was nothing in comparison. Thousands more would die if the Blight wasn't stopped.

"You wish to assist your Warden?" Zevran asked.

She shot him a curious glance. "It doesn't matter if I did, I don't know where they are now. It's been days since we left Calenhad, they would have moved on from there." She turned back the way they were moving. "But Redcliffe might work. He mentioned they were going to seek out the Arl there. We could meet them there."

Zevran nodded. "To Redcliffe then. Another couple days of walking, sounds like an adventure."

She couldn't help but laugh. They did after all, just spend a few days to get here.

"Well once more, lead on," Zevran suggested.


	14. Chapter 14

**Woot! The three chapters this weekend just like I promised! This chapter is for Amanda Kitswell. Hope your last few days got a little better :)**

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><p>Chapter 14<p>

-Alistair-

"So Wynne, you know I'm a templar right?" Alistair questioned gently. The two of them were seated around the fire, staring into the flames.

"Actually, I believe what I heard was that you were not, in fact, a Templar. You were trained as one before you became a Grey Warden," the aged mage spoke softly.

"Well yes, that's right. But I still have all the abilities of one, of course. That doesn't... make you nervous?"

"Should it? I am no apostate. Perhaps you should be directing this question at Morrigan."

"She claims not to be afraid of me... or anything, really. But you've had more experience with the Templars than her. I know how mages can sometimes..." he drifted off, afraid that he might have offended her.

"The Templars serve a function, and a necessary one. If what has happened at the tower proves anything, it is that we mages can be dangerous, even to ourselves."

"That's one way of looking at it."

"And regardless, you seem like a decent enough young man. If you decide to slaughter me out of hand, I'm sure you would at least inform me first, no?" she teased.

"Oh, sure," he laughed. "You can count on it."

"You two," Leliana laughed. "Strangest coupling of mage and templar I've ever seen."

"Add in a Chantry sister and I think we can make a tale out of this," Wynne joked.

"Alistair," Gilmore called from across the camp, striding over towards him. "Can we speak?"

Groaning, Alistair shot Wynne and Leliana a look. He'd been expecting this ever since the fade. He was barely able to get the scene out of his own mind, he doubted Gilmore could either, being a bystander.

"We'll just be over there," Wynne pointed to Sten. "Let you two Wardens sort out your business."

"So we're almost to Orzammar," Alistair started.

"Yes. But I wanted to speak with you about something else."

"Why am I not surprised," he grumbled, leaning back against the log and staring into the fire. There was always something so wonderful about someone invading your personal thoughts and desires only to scold you about them later.

"I just thought maybe we should discuss what went down in the fade."

Alistair turned uninterested eyes towards the other Warden. Since they had left the fade he couldn't get the feel of Emma in his arms out of his head. Or the sight of her pinned through the chest by his sword. Discussing it wasn't going to help matters at all.

"I just don't think we should ignore what I saw."

Sighing, Alistair turned back to the fire. From the smoke, blue eyes flicked towards him. He knew it was in his imagination but it didn't stop his pulse from thundering once again.

"Alistair, your infatuation with her is… is…" Gilmore shook his head. "I don't even know the right word. It's going to get one of you hurt."

Frowning, he glanced at him.

"I already explained to you that she has to marry a noble."

Alistair nodded. Yes, they had had this conversation before. And shockingly he was even more disinclined to inform him that he actually was a noble. Or rather, he technically was. It didn't mean he was actually accepted as one among the other nobles, but by right of blood, he was.

"Alistair, it's just what I saw…" Gilmore shook his head.

Settling himself against a log, Alistair sighed. "I'm going to stop you there. The fade… none of us enjoyed being there. But what you saw was personal."

"I'd say," the man scoffed. "And it worries me."

"I don't see how it's any of your concern, though," Alistair suggested.

"Are you serious? Emma is-"

"A friend of yours, yes I understand. But as you've already informed me, nothing ever came out of that."

"And you think something will come out of whatever is happening here? We are in the middle of a Blight. Emma is fighting to win back her land. Do you honestly think something lasting can come from that? Look, Alistair, I'm your friend. I just don't want to see you get hurt. And you will. There is no way a Cousland would marry someone like…" he trailed off.

"Someone like me?" Alistair finished quietly. Anger bubbled under the surface and for the first time since meeting Gilmore, he debated telling him just exactly who he was. It was a strange feeling. He'd never once desired to throw his birth right into someone's face. But he'd also never considered living up to it. Not until meeting Emma. And now Gilmore was about to force him into admitting it out loud.

"Look, it's just you're not a noble. You don't even know who your father was-"

"I'm going to stop you there," Alistair grumbled. "As I stated before, my personal thoughts are none of your business. Just as whatever happens between Emma and I, _if_ anything were to happen, that is also between Emma and I."

"Alistair-"

"No," he growled. "This isn't any of your concern. Focus on the Blight, it's what we recruited you for. And let me sort out my own personal feelings."

"I just-"

Alistair rose from his seat and stormed off, fuming beneath the collar of his armor. So close to telling that little… blighter exactly who he was. Too close. And while that was something that he knew he'd have to face in the coming days, he wasn't ready for that conversation now.

-oOo-

-Emma-

The past couple of days had passed uneventfully. The two traveled together, passing through random little towns and stocking up on whatever supplies they felt they needed. They stayed a night at the Spoiled Princess once more, only to find out that Alistair had moved on. What had shocked her were the events that apparently had transpired there. When Kester told her that Alistair and Gilmore had rescued the surviving mages and cleared the tower out of all abominations, she'd felt so proud of him. She couldn't imagine how challenging that must have been. And the danger. She was only relieved to hear that they'd all survived and apparently been discussing moving onto Orzammar next. And while that was good to know, both she and Zevran decided it'd be foolish to go chasing after them. They'd left for Orzammar two days previous, they would have arrived there by at least yesterday, but neither of them had any idea where they would look for them within the massive underground city. It still seemed the wise decision to wait for them in Redcliffe, a location they knew for sure they would end up. And at least there was a tavern they could sleep in instead of the cold hard ground. For all they knew by the time they arrived at Redcliffe, they'd already be done with Orzammar and would be heading there anyways.

They started down the last hill, the tavern coming in sight. Her stomach was savagely growling for food, she was sure Spartacus and Zevran were just as hungry.

"What I would give for a warm plate of food and a warm…" Zevran drifted off.

Grinning, Emma turned. "A warm what Zev?"

The elf's smile grew. "There is no need for jealousy, my dear Cousland. You know I would bed you in a heartbeat."

Emma's cheeks suddenly burned bright.

"Let's just keep moving."

"Very well. But know the offer is always there."

"Oh Zev," she sighed.

"Oh thank the Maker!" someone exclaimed from the forthcoming bridge.

Zevran stepped in front of Emma, his fingers dancing across his hilts.

"State your business," he ordered.

"Are you all that's come?" the poor boy cried when his eyes swept over them.

Emma dropped her hand down onto Zevran's shoulder and drew him back. "I don't think he's trying to kill me."

Once the elf backed away, Emma glanced to the boy, noting the distress he seemed to carry within his body. His face was covered in soot, his clothing sopped with blood, his steel dripping with it.

"What's wrong?"

"You haven't heard?" he whispered.

"Well, in case you didn't notice," Zevran grumbled. "There are other things happening in the world. An impending blight, people murdered in their sleep…"

"Zevran," she

"Then you haven't heard…"

"We will once you tell us," Emma suggested quietly.

"Forgive me," he chattered. "It's just, every night we fight these demons and no one has even heard."

"Demons?" she questioned. "What do you mean demons?"

"Demons!" he shouted. "Things that attack our village every night, they come from the castle. Please, you have to help us!"

"I suppose we could go fetch some help," she mused, turning to look at Zevran. Orzammar was quite a ways away, but she couldn't think of any others to approach.

"No!" he shouted. "If you leave, we're done. We need help and we need it now."

"Very well. Perhaps you should take us to whoever is in charge then?"

Nodding, Tomas started down the hill, shouting over his shoulder for them to hurry.

"I don't know what help you think we'll be able to provide," Zevran murmured as they followed after him.

"I won't know either until we speak with someone."

"And you're sure this is where you want to wait for your Warden?"

"Alistair, Zev," she laughed. "His name is Alistair, not Warden."

"As you wish."

They found themselves in front of a Chantry, Tomas turning and beckoning them forward. "In here, hurry."

He tossed the heavy doors open and ushered them within, his steps hurried as he bolted towards the podium.

Up ahead, Emma saw a figure of a man, speaking with someone. With Tomas's approach, he bowed politely to the man before turning.

"It's Tomas, yes? And who are these people with you? They are obviously not simple travelers."

"No my lord. They just arrived and I thought you'd like to meet them."

"Well done," he stated, turning to Emma with another quirk of his head. "Greetings, friends. My name is Teagan, Bann of Rainesfere, brother to the Arl."

"Well met, Bann Teagan."

His eyes narrowed on her, "Is it possible we've met? You seem familiar."

Swallowing, Emma glanced down. "Perhaps you've met my father, Teryn Cousland?"

"Ah yes, that is it exactly! I trust your father is well?" he asked.

Sighing, Emma skirted a little closer to Zevran. This was a topic she was growing tired of discussing. And yet, dealing with nobles, it was necessary.

"It seems another has not heard the unfortunately news," Zevran sighed.

"Unfortunate news?"

"My father is dead, Bann Teagan," Emma murmured. "Both my mother and father were murdered by Arl Howe just before Ostagar."

"My lady," he gasped. "That is grave news indeed. My apologies for having not known. With our own situation here, I am sure you will understand that not much word has reached us of Ferelden's welfare. Either way it is a pleasure to meet you, though I wish it were under better circumstances."

Moving on from the sore topic of her family, she merely nodded.

"Are you here to see my brother?"

"No," Emma responded. "We actually came to await the arrival of some of our friends. They should be along shortly within a few days."

"I fear we may not have that long," he informed them, his voice growing deeper with his words. "Every night my people are savaged by monsters attacking from the castle."

"What are these monsters?" Zevran spoke up.

"Maker only knows. No one has heard from the castle in days. No guards patrol the walls and no one has responded to my shouts. I fear we may have lost all inside, but I cannot leave these people to investigate. The attacks started a few nights ago. Evil… things… surged from the castle. We fought them back but many perished during the assault."

"What evil things are you talking about?"

"Some call them the walking dead," he shuddered. "Decomposing corpses returning to life with a hunger for human flesh. They hit again the next night. Each night they come, with greater numbers. With Cailan dead and Loghain starting a war over the throne, no one has responded to my urgent calls for help. I have a feeling tonight's assault will be the worst yet. My lady, I hate to ask this of you, but I desperately require the help of you and your friend."

She dared a glance towards Zevran who merely shrugged. "I follow where you lead. If you wish to remain here and help these downtrodden people, I will also."

Nodding, she turned back to Teagan. "Of course we'll assist. This is where our friends are coming and it wouldn't help us for them to walk into a town of the recently undead."

"Thank you, thank you," Teagan smiled gratefully. "This… means more to me that you could possibly guess."

"It's our pleasure," Emma told him. There was no way she could leave them to this mess, not when she knew the Guerrin's were friends of her family. Beyond which, she also knew their voices were strong within the country. Having them at her back would aid her greatly when seeking justice for Howe.

"Tomas, tell Murdock of what transpired here and return to your post."

"Yes my lord."

"Now, there is much to do before night falls. I've put two men in charge of the defense outside. Murdock, the village mayor, and Ser Perth, one of Eamon's knights. I would suggest discussing with them the preparations for the upcoming battle."

"Very well," Emma nodded before turning and heading towards the doors once more. She couldn't help but take notice of all the pleading faces turning up to her as she walked by, the desperation written within their features hard to ignore. These people were in dire need of help and she would do whatever it took to ensure their safety.


	15. Chapter 15

**Woo! 4 chapters this weekend! Wicked! Enjoy :)**

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><p>Chapter 15<p>

-Emma-

Preparing for an oncoming battle was a tiring job, Emma realized as she and Zevran constantly raced up and down the hill lying between Murdock and Ser Perth. It seemed the two of them both required multiple different things to help the troops. And then of course there was the inn full of what had to be some of the most cowardly individuals ever met. It was no wonder Teagan was worried about losing the battle, with people like Lloyd hiding behind their locked doors while those brave enough to fight lost their lives.

It only took a few forceful words and he and a few others cowering within the tavern were now preparing to fight this evening as well. The one of most interest to her was the elf. After a little questioning she found out that he'd been hired to watch the village by someone working for Howe. Hearing his name, once again, she came to realize just how far his influence reached, which of course only angered her further.

The entire day had been spent reuniting a sister with her little brother who ran off, curiously she found him in his house; coercing the blacksmith to return to his work, only if she promised to locate his daughter in the castle; fetching religious amulets for the knights from the mother who felt it unnecessary; and spreading oil over the one entry way to Redcliffe in hopes of lighting the blighted creatures on fire.

Finally, they slipped back into the Chantry, hoping for a little rest before nightfall.

"All is well?" Teagan questioned from the front of the Chantry.

"Well enough I suppose," Emma responded.

"Again, thank you my Lady. I've heard stories of your prowess in battle. It will be invigorating to watch you."

Smiling, she thanked him quietly. Since this entire mess began though, she no longer felt the same excitement she once had for fighting. It seemed entirely pointless now; people's lives brought to an end with blades of steel. Who were they to make the decision who was to live and die?

"Are you skilled with a blade at all?" Zevran inquired.

"Enough to know there are others more talented than I."

Emma nodded.

"Is everything ready for tonight?"

"I think so. We've added a few defenses around the village to help against the assault. I've… persuaded a few more men to join into the battle and Owen is fixing equipment as we speak."

"Excellent, excellent. Then we wait for nightfall and make our final stand."

"Will you be in the fight?" Emma asked.

"Of course. I would not abandon you in your time of need."

"Just try not to die," Zevran joked. "I am sure the Arl would not like that news."

"You as well."

"Bann Teagan-"

"Just Teagan, please," he smiled gently at her.

With a nod, she continued. "We're looking for a place to get some rest. The tavern seems booked up with the militia men, do you have any place for us?"

"Just the Chantry here," he indicated around him. "I admit it isn't much but it's all we have left given the circumstances."

"It'll do."

"Mother Hannah will find you a quiet spot. I appreciate all your hard efforts, we will do everything we can to make you comfortable."

"Thank you Bann Teagan," she murmured, ignoring the pointed glance he fed her.

He called over Mother Hannah, the two speaking in hushed tones as they discussed where to place them. Finally the two agreed and the Mother took both Zevran and Emma by hand and led them to one of the furthest corners of the Chantry.

"Our apologies, but I trust the two of you have your own bedrolls?"

They nodded.

"I will wake you an hour before sunset. Is that enough time?"

"Thank you," Emma agreed, waving the Mother off. The past two days of travel had begun to wear on her. She just wanted to sleep.

-oOo-

She woke with a little time to spare. Mother Hannah hadn't even come to wake them yet, it was still early enough. Next to her, Zevran lay asleep, the dark tattoo surrounding his eye drawing her attention. He seemed peaceful in his sleep which was something she longed for. It had been awhile now since her dreams hadn't been plagued with images of her parents, or Alistair for that matter.

"Your wandering eye is keeping me awake," his lips moved but the rest of his face remained peaceful.

"So you are awake."

"Someone has to remain aware and you fell into a slumber quicker than a whore after a spill between the sheets."

"Oh Zev," she yawned, "you should have gotten some sleep."

"I rested. I will be fine for battle."

"Good, because it's almost here."

"And we shall be ready. You did a fine job preparing the village. Now it is up to them."

Nodding, she kicked back the bedroll, her eyes darting to the window. Dusk was approaching, soon it'd be time to face these supposed walking undead.

"Come on," she motioned towards the door, snapping her fingers for Spartacus's attention. "We should meet with Perth and get ready."

The two rolled up their possessions and started towards the door, the mabari at their heels. All around her people were hugging their loved ones, their quiet sobs like a wrench on her heart. It was reminiscent of a funeral march, so much despair and anguish.

As they passed through the courtyard it was the same scene. Murdock stood off to the side issuing last minute orders. Emma and Zevran continued past, heading up the hill. They'd agreed to make their stand with Ser Perth and the knights. They would be positioned at the front, hopefully pinning off any and all attacks from the castle.

At the top Perth stood with his men, issuing orders himself.

"We're ready," he announced the moment he turned and caught sight of the two of them.

"As are we."

"Then we wait."

Fortunately they didn't have to wait long. It was only moments after the sun fell beneath the horizon that a horrid sound of wailing tore through the air.

"Maker," Emma whispered as she listened.

"Now you see what we've been facing," Perth commented.

Before she could respond, shadows descended on them, their figures cloaked in darkness as they tore through the smoke and flames. How quickly their wails turned to screams the moment the flames touched their flesh. Emma watched in horror as these creatures flailed about the clearing, the stench of their burning decomposing flesh assaulting her nose.

And then the knights were rushing forward, their blades flashing in the moonlight. Emma and Zevran rushed after them, her blades slicing clean anything they touched.

Zevran and Emma fought back to back, using one another to guard their backs. Every direction she turned there was another, then another, all with the same distorted features.

"Emma, duck!" Zevran shouted a second before she did, the air above her head whistling as a blade sliced clean above her. The sound of shattering bone was familiar to her, and even though it was an evil creature suffering through it, she still winced.

They were surrounded, she realized as she gazed up from her lowered position on the ground. With grit teeth, she clutched the hilts of her blades, one in each hand, and spun in the soil, the steel laying open every beast within her radius. One by one they toppled over, but within seconds their place was taken by another.

It seemed almost like a never ending battle. With every creature she took down, another seemed to rise. Finally the numbers seemed to wane. Turning, she watched as Zevran's blades plunged deeply into the eye of the last one, its twitching corpse falling to the earth.

He turned, smiling as their gazes met. "That was easy."

Emma was about to laugh, agreeing but at the moment Tomas came rushing up the hill, shouting for help, screaming about how they were attacking from the lower levels as well.

Emma turned and pointed to Ser Perth. "Stand guard, do not let them advance again."

Before he could nod, the three dashed after Tomas.

From the higher position she could see he was right. From every direction the undead seemed to swarm into the village. People's cries were deafening as they were run through by the first wave. Emma, Zevran, and Spartacus rushed forward, their blades meeting those of the undead, driving them back.

She couldn't believe the force present down here. They'd clearly been wrong to make their first stand up on the hill. It took effort, but eventually they beat them back enough to give the villagers a chance. The battle encircled the bonfire, bodies pressing everywhere.

She felt like she was being pulled in every direction. With every turn she took, there seemed to be someone crying for help. She'd never moved so fast in her life, never attacked so many targets in her life. But she managed, tapping into every reserve she had.

Slowly the field cleared and she began to feel the first stirrings of winning. She turned to congratulate those that remained, her lips curving into a grin, when something cold shot through her chest.

"Emma!" Zevran cried out, rushing forward.

His arms enclosed around her a second before she fell. Eyes wide, her gaze dropped down to find a sword spit through her chest, her armor caving away from it.

"You're going to be okay," she heard him murmur into her ear.

All around her, everything grew hazy, even the sound of his voice growing distant. Darkness began to eat away at her vision, the feel of Zevran's arms fading from sensation.

"Zev…" she whispered, still able to see her blood spilling down her front and spreading over the soil.

"We have to move her," another voice commented.

"She needs a healer," Zev barked.

"We don't have one."

"What!" he shouted.

"Zev…" she whispered again.

His pale face shot into view, his brown eyes creased with concern. "Emma," he whimpered, his hands framing her face. "Ssh, it'll be alright."

She stared up at him, her fading gaze focusing once more on his tattoo. Her arm rose weakly from her side, her fingers grazing it. It was just as smooth as it looked.

The trembling first started in her extremities before working its way to her core. Soon it was all she could do, the shaking of her body spilling more blood. With a whimper, her arm fell into the soil next to her.

Distantly she was aware of him calling her name, but the darkening abyss crept up on her and smothered all sight and noise. Her last thought was of a blonde, amber eyed Warden before she slipped into unconsciousness.

-oOo-

-Alistair-

"You want to stop at Redcliffe?" Gilmore asked. "Why?"

"I don't know," Alistair grumbled. "It's along the way to the Dalish and I just feel as though I need to be there."

"Well, it's certainly along the way. It'd be nice to sleep in a bed as well," Leliana suggested. "I think it's a great idea. A real meal."

Nodding, Alistair glanced down the road. They certainly were close enough. He wasn't sure what it was, but a few hours ago, just before the sun came up, he felt a chill creep out from his center that was spreading through all his limbs. And for some reason when he thought on Redcliffe, he knew he had to be there.

He lengthened his stride, practically jogging down the road, leaving all the others to catch up. Something was drawing him towards the village and he wasn't arguing.

"Alistair," he heard Gilmore call behind him. "What's the rush?"

He had no idea. A few more steps and he found himself staring up. Black smoke billowed into the air. And as he followed the trail, he knew, _knew,_ it was from Redcliffe.

"Hurry," he implored, practically bursting into a run.

The party stumbled into the village, Alistair's feet falling to a standstill at the sight of all the bodies strewn across the grounds.

"Maker," he hissed, staring at the carnage.

"What in the void happened here?" Leliana whispered.

"To the Chantry," Alistair determined. "Someone will be in charge there."

Ignoring the bodies, they pressed onwards. He couldn't help but notice most looked like creatures brought back from the void. Blood stained fences and buildings, ash still falling to the ground.

He burst into the Chantry, shocked to find a swarm of people surrounding something near the podium.

"What is happening here?" Gilmore demanded, his voice carrying through the entire Chantry.

The group, responding to the voices of newcomers, seemed to split like a sea, as all turned to stare at them.

And then a blonde elf stepped forward, his face stricken with blood, his lips turned down with grief.

"Warden," he murmured.

Alistair knew this face. For a brief moment he felt elation rise within him. Where he was, he knew Emma would be. But then he focused on his state of desperation, his crimson stained armor, but mostly the pain lit within his eyes.

"Zevran," Alistair growled, stepping into the Chantry and dropping all his possessions down onto the floor.

His eyes followed the sea of people to find a woman stretched on her side.

He'd seen this sight before, in his nightmares, every night since the fade.

The sight of the steel blade split through her chest was the worst thing he'd ever seen.

"Emma!" he hissed, bolting towards the podium and dropping to his knees by her side. His hands immediately curved over her shoulders and pulled her into him. Her face was so pale and so lifeless that for a moment he wondered if he was too late.

He shot another glance back up to the elf, noting that no hope flickered across his face. He, too, believed they were too late.

"Why hadn't a healer been summoned?" he demanded, his hands framing the blade.

"We don't have one," a familiar voice informed him.

He glanced up. "Teagan."

The man dipped his head in recognition.

Spinning on the spot, Alistair shot a glance to Morrigan. "Fetch us Wynne, immediately."

He suddenly regretted leaving her at camp with Sten. Where she here, this wouldn't even be an issue.

The witch shot him a quick scathing look before shifting into a wolf and dashing off towards their camp.

"It won't be long now," he crooned softly to Emma, curving over her body.

He took comfort in the faint pulse thrumming under her skin, even though it was weak. He only hoped it continued until Wynne could arrive. It had to. His fingers lanced through hers and he lifted it to his mouth, placing a gentle kiss against her palm.

"Stay with me," he begged, flicking another furious glance at the elf.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

-Alistair-

The interminable wait took more strength than Alistair ever thought he possessed. He had thought seeing her like this in his dreams was bad enough, but in real life, watching as her life ticked away, the feel of her cold skin against him, was worse than he could have ever imagined.

In the distance a mabari howled a song of sorrow for his lost master; the elf, grief-stricken, paced the length of the Chantry, his fingers folded into knots; even Gilmore sat pressed against the wall, his head tucked into the palm of his hands, all mourning the impending loss of this woman. And yet none of them felt what he did. None of them were suffering through their heart shattering into a million pieces, his soul torn from his chest and stomped on, his will to live himself snuffed from him. They may ache and weep for her, but only he desired to die with her.

He tried to remain oblivious to the slowing of her pulse, the added weight to his lap as life slipped from her body. Lowering down, his lips moved in a flurry against her ear, promising her thousands of things if she were only to wake. He begged for her to stay with him, pleaded with the Maker to give him just this one thing in life; promised Him anything he could if only he were lenient and gave her back.

The Chantry itself seemed stricken with silence. All around her were swarms of people. Clearly tragedy had struck Redcliffe and yet by her side they stood, all praying for her safe return.

Seconds ticked into minutes. It wasn't long before Alistair began to wonder if Morrigan had even done what he'd asked. It wouldn't be the first time she manipulated circumstances to her liking.

As he gazed back down at her, tears welled in his eyes. And this was how he was going to lose her; someone he'd never thought to find in this world, ripped away from him.

With that realization, her chest fell still, the tiny thrum of life he'd grown dependent on stuttering to a stop. His heart leapt into his throat, panic burning through his veins.

"No," he cried, furiously blinking away the hot tears.

A collective gasp tore through the crowd. Gilmore leapt to his feet, the elf crossing the length of the room in three strides, even the mabari fell quiet, all to watch as she slipped from their grasps.

The sound of the doors bursting open woke them all from their reverie. Alistair's head snapped up, his eyes tracing a guard as he raced forwards, quickly followed by two mages, one withered and aged, the other young and uncaring.

"Wynne!" Alistair begged.

The woman was at his side, her staff unstrapped from her back within seconds. At that moment he'd never appreciated someone's presence so much.

"Oh dear," he heard her murmur.

Her frail hands shoved him back, pushing him towards the elf. And then she bent over Emma, her hands fluttering in movements he'd never seen before. The pressure built within his head as she summoned all her will. It was more than he could bear. The Templar in him wanted to react, snuff her magic from her but he knew that was nothing more than training.

He couldn't help but take solace in the fact that she hadn't given up. She continued to work on her, the minutes now seemingly turning into what felt like hours.

He could hear her speaking in low murmurs beneath her breath, though the words were indistinguishable. But from his angle he couldn't see anything and he was too afraid to move. Finally, she slumped forwards, her head bowed over Emma.

"Alistair, Gilmore," she finally called, her words breathy.

Alistair inched closer, his eyes taking in her crumpled form once again. As he rounded Wynne, he was shocked to find a pair of striking blue eyes watching him.

"Emma!" he gasped dropping to his knees next to her.

Her lips parted but no words came out.

"The blade, Alistair," Wynne mumbled.

Horror struck through him the moment he realized she was conscious with a sword speared through her.

"Gilmore take her shoulders," Wynne commanded. "And Alistair on the count of three..." she trailed off.

"What?" he demanded.

"We need to remove the blade."

"You want me to..."

"Pull it out, yes."

"But…"

"Alistair, she needs you to do this."

The two locked gazes once more but he found nothing reassuring in her face. Finally, with the smallest wince, she nodded.

The two men took their position, Gilmore clutching her hands and Alistair the hilt.

"This is going to hurt," Wynne whispered. "But just take a deep breath and know once it's out, it's done."

"Are you ready?" Gilmore murmured, bending lower to her level.

"Yes," Alistair heard her whisper.

"Alistair?" Wynne called. "On three?"

Swallowing, he glanced down on Emma once more before finally nodding.

He focused his attention on her, watching as she gripped Gilmore's hands. How he would have rather been in his position, but at the same time, he couldn't imagine any other pulling the blade free.

When the word 'three' echoed through his ears, he took a deep breath and wrenched the blade free. The piercing scream that echoed through the hall was the worst sound he ever heard.

Instantly, the blade slipped from his fingers and he dropped back down to Emma, his hands softly falling against her back. She'd instinctively curled into a tight ball, her blood seeping through the pads of his knees.

Another wave of magic spilled over them and poured into Emma. Her next breath came as a gasp and Alistair watched in awe as her skin stitched itself back together.

Unable to wait any longer, Alistair gathered Emma into his arms and cradled her against his chest. From the corner of his eye he saw Wynne slump over, leaning against her staff for balance.

"Thank you Wynne," he crooned to her seconds before brushing his lips against Emma's brow.

"I need to rest," she murmured. "And she should as well. I healed the wound but dying takes a lot out of someone. I'd recommend a few days minimum before she's well enough to be up and moving around."

Alistair nodded, thanking the mage once again as she wobbled to her feet and limped from the Chantry.

Before anyone else could speak, Alistair slid his arm under her knees and gently lifted her. A quick glance to Teagan had the Bann leading them both towards the door.

"We'll find her a room in the inn, get her settled, and then we should speak."

Alistair nodded and followed after.

He couldn't believe how close he'd come to losing her. No, not close, he had. It was only with the magic of a mage that she lived. It was so hard to believe that only minutes ago she lay dead in his arms. It was like his whole life had ended just seeing it. And so many things made clearer. He now saw his future, bright and sunny before him. He would do whatever it took to have her in his life. And if that meant taking the throne of Ferelden, so be it.

-oOo-

-Emma-

Every inch of her ached. Even the slightest little move set her body on fire. Just outside her room she could hear Alistair and Teagan speaking in hushed tones. She tried her hardest to focus on their words and not the searing pain ripping through her muscles. The mage, Wynne Alistair had called her, promised her that once they were done, there'd be no pain, but oh had she lied. Apparently resurrection was one of the most painful things she'd ever had to do.

Utterly uncomfortable, she shifted on the bed, the pressure in her head shifting until she thought she might vomit.

"You should be sleeping," his voice came from the door frame.

She couldn't even imagine sleeping, not after what had just happened. She dated sleep would ever come willingly again. She'd heard stories about seeing light and the Maker. Truthfully, all she remembered as a dark empty abyss filled with absolutely nothing. It was enough to keep her frightened for the rest of her life. However long that may be. She couldn't believe that was where her parents were, if it could even be classified as a place.

Swallowing, she strained her neck, hoping to find at least one position comfortable enough to lay in for the next couple days. "I don't want to sleep."

"No, I'd imagine not," he murmured softly.

His fingers grazed against hers. Biting down on her lip, she forced her gaze to his.

"Thank you," she whispered.

Smiling, he touched his lips to her fingers. "You have nothing to thank me for. But… never scare me like that again."

"Didn't mean to," she teased weakly.

The last thing she had thought of was him and now seeing him, she understood why.

"Alistair…" she started.

But the knock on the door interrupted them. The barmaid from downstairs brought in a couple glasses and a plate of food. Even the smell made her feel nauseous.

With a smile, she turned and ducked out.

"Look, Emma. Teagan has requested my help with something. He needs help retaking the castle, apparently, and I've promised my assistance. From there, Gilmore and I have one more stop we need to make in the Brecilian Forest. Won't be more than a couple days, I'm sure. But we're coming back here after. Take it easy, eat something and rest while I'm gone."

Her lips parted, about to interject to tell him how she felt. Instead he rose from his seat and brushed his lips against her. Her chest ached from the strength of her heart pounding beneath her breast.

"When I get back, there's something I need to discuss with you."

Her words fell short when she realized what he just said. "What do you want to discuss?"

Smiling, he stood from the bed, brushing his fingers against her cheek. "We'll talk when I get back."

"Okay," she murmured before forcing herself straight again.

He shot her another look from the doorway, one that made her blush all the way to her toes, which only made the throbbing that much more, before shutting the door softly behind him.

"Finally," someone spoke from the shadows.

A tiny squeak came from her mouth a second before Zevran's fingers fell on her lips.

"Zevran, how long have you been there?"

"Long enough. Just waited for our sweet Warden to leave."

"Why?"

He threw his head back and laughed lightly. "Because being around the two of you is a little sickening. But enough talking. You should be resting. I'll sit by and watch."

"You want to watch me sleep?"

He snickered again. "Someone has to make sure you don't die on us. I think your Warden would be quite cross if he returned to find you in another death defying state. You need to stop doing that to the poor boy. He may just cry."

Scoffing, Emma glanced away. Truthfully, with someone else sitting in the room, watching over her, she felt like she might actually be able to get some rest.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

-Alistair-

"How is she?" Gilmore asked the moment Alistair came down the stairs.

The entire room fell into an eerie hush as they waited with bated breath for his news.

"She'll be alright in a few days," he commented, wiping the stress from his face as he lowered himself into a chair. The inn was absolutely packed with people he'd never met before all demanding to know her well being. Eve Teagan sat next to Leliana, awaiting the news.

All around him shoulders slumped, people heaved sighs, and started laughing and joking with one another. For someone who had only arrived yesterday, the woman knew how to leave a wake in her aftermath. He watched in awe as the people of Redcliffe began regaling their tales of slaughtering the undead. But even he knew it wasn't over yet.

He glanced over to Teagan who, with a nod and a gentle smile to the bard, rose and approached Alistair.

"We need to get into the castle. There is a secret entrance, just up the hill, that only my family has access to. We need to use it and find Eamon."

"Convenient," Morrigan quipped.

"Indeed. But it is the truth."

Alistair nodded and started for the door. Immediately his companions fell in place and Teagan stumbled after.

As they climbed the hill, he kept shooting glances towards Gilmore. If they found Eamon alive in there, he had a feeling he knew exactly what the old man was going to say. It was as predictable as the looks twisting Teagan's face. Even he knew and Alistair could tell from the worried glances, the man clearly needed to discuss it.

"I am sorry," Alistair finally said, knowing it was common courtesy but really not desiring to approach the topic. "About Cailan's death."

For a moment Teagan's face shut down. He was after all, the late King's uncle, through Cailan's mother's side.

"Yes, thank you. I just cannot believe that Loghain would abandon him like that."

Alistair remained quiet on that one. The topic of Loghain was one that struck a chord deep within him.

"You know that they'll expect you to step up," Teagan commented naturally, as though they were simply discussing the weather. But Alistair's heart hitched in his chest, his pulse suddenly thundering. All around him his companions were turning towards him, questions mirroring their features.

"Step up?" Gilmore asked, wandering closer to the two of them. "Step up to what?"

Cursing under his breath, Alistair fed Teagan a filthy look. All he had done was give condolences over his nephew. There had been no need to discuss anything further than that. But nobles, he should have known, were only ever concerned about one thing.

"You have not told them?" Teagan questioned.

"No, and thank you for that," Alistair growled under his breath.

"Told us what?"

Sighing, Alistair came to a stop. He was willing to discuss it with Emma, sure, but not the rest of the world, at least not yet.

"I will… continue up the hill," Teagan mumbled. "Fetch me when you're ready."

And then he was alone, staring into the faces of his three companions, two of which wore masks of utter curiosity and the other boredom.

Knowing that he had no option anymore, he took a deep breath and centered himself. He hated having this conversation, hated how people's opinions always changed. And here he'd been thinking it'd be smart to discuss this with Emma. She was a noble, just like Teagan. All she'd care about was putting him on the throne.

"Look, I do _not_ enjoy making a big deal out of this, but the reason I was raised by Arl Eamon is because… well my father was king Maric."

The moment the words fell out, he leaned back, away from them and simply watched. A range of emotion passed over Ser Gilmore's face. Alistair had no idea of knowing which he would settle on. As for the bard, her face lit up as though this would make a great story. Knowing her, it would. The witch merely shrugged and pushed past, continuing up the hill and leaving him with the other two.

"You're… Maric's son?" Gilmore demanded.

"Yup, for as much good as it did me."

Shaking his head, the knight shifted backwards, his hand scratching his brow. "And why is it this has never come up in the past?"

Alistair couldn't help but laugh. It came out a slight bit louder than he'd intended. "Because, honestly, it was never any of your business."

"What?" Gilmore yelped. "I've been traveling with you since Ostagar! How is it not my business?"

Sighing, Alistair waited a moment before responding. "Because it had no bearing on our mission. Yes Cailan was dead, but in my wildest dreams, I never imagined anyone putting me forward as King."

"What changed?"

"The rumors I heard spreading, the gossip, the fact that Loghain cannot get away with this and I may be the only one to stop him. At first I believed Arl Eamon was a better candidate, but when I really thought about it, how is that any different than what Loghain is doing? Neither of them are Theirin's and while I may not be entirely accepted as one, I am the closest these people are going to get."

"You should have told me," Gilmore snapped.

Alistair groaned and leaned back, pinching his brow between two fingers. "You're right. I suppose I should have. I just hate how this secret has shaped my life. I suppose part of me liked you guys not knowing."

"And Emma?" the knight growled.

A block of ice suddenly formed in the pit of his stomach. Slowly, he glanced up at Gilmore.

"What about her?"

"I take it she doesn't know either?"

"Of course not. No one does."

"And you don't think she's going to be hurt that you didn't tell her either?"

"Andraste's flaming sword man!" Alistair shouted. "Why does this matter so much to you?"

"Because you should have told us. All of us," he responded, waving his arms out to indicate Leliana. "Don't you think it was dangerous for us not to have known?"

"Yes, well now you know. So let's move on with our lives."

"Alistair!" Gilmore exclaimed. "You're the bastard Prince of Ferelden and you're treating it as though it's nothing."

"Because it is nothing! At least to me. Growing up, this damned secret shaped my entire life and I'm tired of it. If I chose not to tell you, that was my decision. Have you told me every dark little secret of your life?"

Shaking his head, Gilmore started up the hill. "You need to tell Emma."

"As it is, I was already planning on doing so, when we returned after the Dalish."

"You were?" the man demanded, spinning on the spot, a look of shock settling into his features.

"Yes. I was."

A flash of envy crossed Gilmore's face and Alistair fought his hardest to ignore it. The man's speeches all came back to him, telling him how he wasn't good enough for her, how he could never marry a Cousland because he wasn't a noble. He had a feeling Gilmore was remembering them all as well. And now understood that Alistair was just the right person to marry a Cousland.

Nodding, Gilmore turned and continued on towards Teagan.

"Alistair," he heard the sister caution. "The two of you are friends, do not doubt that. But when it comes to that woman, the knight does not see everything all that clear."

He had to admit he was a little surprised she didn't have anything to add to the conversation about his birth.

"I don't understand what you're saying," he murmured to her, taking deep breaths to slow his pulse.

"You are not the only one that has developed certain feelings for lady Cousland."

He had figured that out a long time ago. But nodding, he motioned for her to continue up the hill as well. They had business to attend to.

-oOo-

Emma awoke to the sound of a bird chirping in her window. It was something she hadn't heard here since arriving, so it was a nice change. To the side of her room sat the elf, his head having fallen forward onto his chest, his light snores rather comforting. She knew he needed some rest as well. In his hands lay his daggers, still clutched tightly in case they were needed. But everything seemed calm.

She shifted on the bed, prepared for the assault of pain that came with it, but pleasantly surprised when there was none.

"How are you feeling?" a withered voice came from the other side.

Startled, Emma turned and found the aged mage sitting by her bed, twirling her staff between her hands.

"Wynne, right?" Emma whispered.

The mage smiled. "I'm surprised you remembered. Alistair asked me to remain with you just in case."

"Oh," Emma smiled. She couldn't help but feel a warm sensation spreading through her stomach at that notion.

"You are feeling…" the mage left off once more.

Laughing gently, Emma nodded. "I feel a lot better. Thank you, for saving my life."

The woman nodded as well. Emma couldn't help but get a motherly feeling from her and it made her slightly homesick. Of course, it wasn't as though she'd ever see her mother again when she returned to Highever.

She turned to glance out the window once more. The sun was up, shining as though the world was at peace once more.

"Did they sort everything out at the castle?" she asked softly.

"Yes. They stopped by here once more before leaving for the forest. You were asleep and Alistair didn't wish to wake you. It is a long story, I'm afraid. Apparently the Arl's son was showing signs of magic so his wife hired a malificarum to teach him out to control it. As with most situations like that, the boy lost control and a demon possessed him. Alistair, Morrigan, Leliana, and Oghren were to continue on to the Brecilian forest to finish the final treaty. But Gilmore and Sten left to seek out the circle mages."

"The circle mages?" Emma repeated, a little confused.

"Yes, I will be able to enter the fade so long as enough lyrium is secured and I will convince the demon to leave the boy. It is the only option other than outright destroying the source of the power."

"You mean, destroying the boy," Emma whispered, horrified.

"Yes. Alistair was just as concerned about that option as you seem to be. So they sought out a different solution."

"Good."

Wynne laughed gently, "Gilmore and Sten should be here within a few days. And then we'll finish it. Alistair said he would return here after he has completed his business with the Dalish and has asked me to remind you that he wishes to speak with you when he returns."

Nodding, Emma glanced back over to Zevran. His snores had softened and she knew he was awake and listening.

"Faker," she teased him, laughing when his eyes snapped open and he grinned at her. Before he could speak, Emma turned back to Wynne, with a sly smile curving her lips. "I think I'd like to go for a walk."

The mage nodded. "The people here have been hounding me endlessly about you. I think a walk would do them as much good as you. You're a bit of a celebrity here. I think they'd all love to see you."

With a deep breath, Emma pushed back the blankets, relaxing when there was very little pain. Zevran was already standing, offering his hand to help her stand which she took gratefully.

"Try not to hurt yourself again though," he teased. "Otherwise I won't be able to let you play anymore."

She rolled her eyes, smacking him lightly against his arm.

"Come on my lady. Let's go for a walk."


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

She could hear the sound of muffled voices from the room across the way. Only minutes ago Gilmore had locked himself in there with the boy, Wynne, the First Enchanter, Sten, Teagan, and that foreign woman Isolde Alistair had mentioned. It was hard to actually like the woman, especially after hearing how she was the main reason behind the mess Redcliffe was in. Emma couldn't believe so many people had been slaughtered just so her son wouldn't have to go to the Circle. And of course with the First Enchanter here now there was no way Connor wouldn't be sent to the Tower. So all of it was absolutely pointless.

For some reason Gilmore had absolutely insisted she remained separate from this. She had wanted to help, but he calmly stated this was Grey Warden business and nothing she could do anyways. It wasn't like she was a mage after all. Knowing there was no way of arguing it, she simply nodded and left the room, struggling to ignore the burning sensation of rejection festering in the pit of her stomach at the sound of the door clicking shut behind her.

So now she stood in the hallway along with Ser Perth and waited. The estate was an absolute mess. Everywhere she stepped, she was practically hopping over pools of blood, toeing aside corpses. One would have thought they would have cleaned the estate while awaiting the First Enchanter.

Yawning with boredom, she started wandering closer to an open door at the end of the hall. The light was on but there didn't appear to be anyone inside. As she approached it, she saw walls lined with books and a desk in the center of the room. Guessing it to be Eamon's study, she curiously wandered through it, fingering through the books. Dairren had always loved the study within her family's estate and standing back, she now understood why. There was something intriguing about thumbing through someone else's books.

A flash of silver caught her eye. Turning, she inched towards the desk, a silver chain dangling from a closed drawer. Curious, she tugged open the drawer and drew the chain out, a heavy amulet dangling from the other end.

Her fingers curled around the amulet as she studied it, noting the many little cracks worked into the metal.

"Zev, I think this is Alistair's mother."

The elf hovered over her shoulder, glancing down. "Why do you think that?"

She traced a finger over one of the cracks, the silver smooth beneath her touch, before quickly pocketing the amulet before turning from the room once more. If it was the amulet Alistair had mentioned, then it was clearly his property. He had claimed to have broken it and the cracks looked to be filled with glue. Someone certainly had taken the time to put it back together. If it was the amulet, he'd certainly desire it back. And suddenly she couldn't wait for his return. It'd been a week since he'd left with Morrigan and Leliana for the Brecilian Forest and she was growing increasingly antsy with each passing day. She didn't like waiting around in one spot after being on the move constantly. It just seemed to be asking for trouble. But she'd promised she'd wait.

"That's called stealing you know," Zevran chuckled lightly.

Laughing under her breath, she shrugged and left the study, her fingers tracing the etchings on the outside of the amulet.

She wandered back out into the hallway just as the door cracked open. A little boy came running out, streaking past the two of them with a look of bliss lighting up his face.

"I take it everything went well?" Emma questioned Wynne as the mage followed, a weary look set to her features. It'd been a busy week for her apparently.

"It did. The demon has been taken care of and the boy seems well enough."

"The Dalish have agreed to assist us," another familiar voice came. "So when the time is right, we may call on them."

Emma spun towards it, her lips curving as she caught sight of his golden hair. The moment his gaze met hers the two fell completely still, the hallway falling silent.

"Eh, is this her?" a dwarf questioned as he peered out from behind Alistair.

"Emma Cousland, I'd like you to meet Oghren," Alistair sighed, leaning away until his shoulder was propped against the wall. He crossed his arms and ankles, just watching her. Smiling shyly, she glanced down.

"Just ignore him," Leliana commented as she strode into the hall. "We all do."

"When are we leaving?" a rather tall, stern looking man questioned, entering behind Leliana. Emma glanced up, a tiny gasp slipping past her lips as she took in his lavender eyes. There was something… large about him. And rather intimidating. The warrior in her responded by instinctively reaching for her daggers.

"And this is Sten," Alistair nodded towards him. "He's a Qunari."

She'd read of them before but never thought she'd actually see one in real life.

"We have lingered long enough," he stated, breaking contact with Emma to glance down on Alistair.

She couldn't help but notice how carefree he looked, simply leaning against the wall, watching his companions with nothing more than humor.

"You're leaving again?" she questioned softly, hating the disappointment growing within her.

He turned back to her with a small smile, his confidence in this moment appealing. She'd never seen him like this before and she liked it.

"Not till the morning."

It was that moment Gilmore chose to walk into the hall as well. Something seemed to be bothering him though, his eyes refusing to meet hers.

"Get some sleep," he called out. "In the morning, we leave for Haven."

"Haven?" Emma asked. "Why there?"

"The Arl is sick," he stated emotionlessly. "Bann Teagan and Lady Isolde seem to think the ashes of Andraste might cure him. Rumor has it a man by the name of Genitivi might know its whereabouts and he's said to be in Haven."

"I'd like to come along."

Both men fell silent at her words.

"Emma," Alistair started, but she shook her head.

"I want to help the Arl. And I can't sit around here any longer. The Arl was a friend of my father, I think this is what he'd want. I'm coming with, Zevran and I."

Knowing she'd won her point, Gilmore merely nodded before turning and leaving with Wynne, Sten, Oghren, Leliana, and Morrigan following after.

"I shall meet you at the inn," Zevran commented behind her, patting her lightly on the shoulder before following after the others.

The moment he was gone, she couldn't help but notice that once again she was alone with Alistair. And almost immediately the kiss they shared came rushing back to her memory, her lips suddenly tingling.

"Where-"

"So-"

The two stopped, laughing together.

"You first," he chuckled, pushing off the wall and slowly approaching her.

"Where will you be staying?"

"Teagan has offered me a room here, much to Isolde's annoyance I'm sure," he snickered before taking her hand and leading her towards the stairs.

"Where are we going?"

"Well, there's something I'd like to talk to you about but I think it's a conversation best saved for privacy."

He led her inside, softly shutting the door behind him.

The room was a standard one, with a bed and a bureau. But there were a few paintings on the wall of Redcliffe village at night that caught her eye. By the time she turned, Alistair was once again leaning against the wall and watching her animatedly.

"Uh," she murmured, reaching into her pocket and drawing out the amulet. "I… uh found something that I think you might like."

"Oh, a necklace," he mentioned, stepping forward to take it from her.

For a moment she wondered if it wasn't the one he had told her about when his hand paused near it, his eyes narrowing as he focused on amulet. "What is this?" His voice grew quiet and he drew his hand away as though afraid to touch it. "Is this… my mother's amulet?"

"I think so," she whispered, already realizing how much this meant to him.

"But why isn't it broken?" he asked aloud. "And where did you find it?"

Her heart skipped a beat the moment their fingers grazed one another as he pulled the chain away. "In the Arl's study."

His gaze met hers for a brief moment before he turned and walked over to the window, studying the amulet in the light. "He must have found it after I threw it at the wall. He repaired it and kept it. I don't understand, why would he do that?"

He sounded so lost. She crossed the room, her hand grazing against his shoulder. "Perhaps you mean more to him than you thought."

His shoulders slumped under her touch. "I… guess you could be right. We never really talked all that much and then the way I left…" He turned then, his bright eyes burning through her. "Thank you, I mean it. I thought I'd lost this to my own stupidity. I'll need to talk to him of this if he recovers from this… _when_ he recovers that is." He glanced back down at the amulet, spilling it into his other hand and touching the chain. "I wish I'd had this a long time ago. Do you remember me mentioning this?"

She nodded, not entirely knowing what to say.

He turned back to the window. "I'm more used to people not really listening when I go on about things."

"Alistair," she whispered. "Of course I remembered. You're…" she hesitated for a brief moment, slightly afraid of the words that were forming at her lips, "special to me."

He shot her a shocked glance over his shoulder, his lips parted in surprise. She fought to ignore the heated blush that screamed to her cheeks, flicking her attention down to her shoes.

"Emma," he murmured, turning and reaching for her hands. "You _know_ you're special to me as well. In fact," he turned to his sack and drew something out. "I've been meaning to give you something as well. Do you know what it is?"

For a moment she wondered if he was making a joke. Laughing under her breath, she asked, "You're new weapon of choice?"

"Yes, that's right," he teased breathlessly, "Watch as I thrash our enemies with the mighty power of floral arrangements. Feel my thorns darkspawn, I will overpower you with my rosy scent."

With wide eyes she watched him, a smile threatening to curve her lips, but also a little confused. She'd never heard him joke so openly before and wasn't entirely sure how to take it.

"Or, you know," he continued, "it could just be a rose. I know that must be pretty dull in comparison." He extended his arm, a bloomed rose framed in his palm. "I picked it in Lothering. I remember thinking how could something so beautiful exist in a place with so much despair and ugliness. I probably should have left it alone but I couldn't. The darkspawn would come and their taint would just destroy it so I've had it ever since."

Gently, she took the rose from him, staring down at the fresh petals. Never had anyone done something so… tender for her. She hated that tears suddenly sprang to her eyes. Blinking them away, she said, "That's a nice sentiment."

"In a lot of ways, I think the same thing when I look at you. I asked Wynne to preserve this for you. I'm not sure of the spell, but she assures me it'll never die."

Their eyes met once more, an impregnated silence filling the air. Part of her had never felt so much emotion for one person before but the other was still a little afraid. The last person she had cared for was slaughtered by Howe. And if that were to happen to Alistair, now, she had no idea how she would handle that. Even the thought of losing him made her chest ache.

"I guess it's a little silly," he continued, filling the silence. "I just wanted to tell you what a rare and wonderful thing you are to find amidst all this… darkness."

At that, she couldn't help it, the tears spilled over her cheeks. "Alistair…" she stumbled over whatever words were forming in her head, none of which seemed entirely coherent.

Smiling gently, he cupped her cheeks, thumbing away the stray tears. "Don't cry," he crooned to her. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"No," she fed him a watery smile. "I'm not upset."

"The tears would suggest otherwise," he chuckled.

"Thank you, Alistair. It's beautiful."

"Beautiful as in…" he trailed off.

His warm eyes were burning through her; it was all she could see. Cupping her hand around the back of his head she pulled him down until their lips brushed against one another. She couldn't help but realize they were absolutely alone in his room with a shut door locking out any who might interrupt them.

The two staggered backwards, entangled in one another's arms until her knees bumped into the bed. They spilled down onto the mattress, laughing as Alistair rose up off her.

Gazing down on her, he ran his fingers through a few stray tendrils of hair, tucking them behind her ear. The moment his lips took hers, she loped her arm around his neck and drew him as close as possible.

In the morning, she'd be heading out with them to assist in finding the ashes of Andraste, but tonight it was just them and she couldn't help but feel as though this was the right thing for them. There had been a time when she had believed sex should be saved until marriage. But with everything that had happened in her life recently, she now believed in seizing the moment. Who knew how tomorrow would end. And if she passed up this opportunity with him she knew she'd never forgive herself. Committing herself to this, her fingers slid under his tunic, about to remove his shirt, when his hands gripped hers, tucking them against his stomach.

"Emma, wait…"

-oOo-

-Alistair-

How could he have let things get this far before talking to her? He'd meant to the moment they entered the room, but then she'd given him the amulet, something that meant more to him than even she understood. And then she kissed him and he felt something he'd never felt before. Not love, he'd already knew he felt that way about her. But a form of elation at finally _knowing_ she felt the same way about him. And no matter what he wanted, no matter how bad he ached for her, he couldn't go through with it, not until he told her.

"Emma," he whispered against her. "Wait, there's something we need to discuss, before we…"

She drew away from him, confusion sparking within her eyes.

It had to have been one of the hardest things he'd ever said, with her lying so trustingly beneath him, her face flushed, her lips slightly swollen.

Groaning, he rose from her and stalked back across the room. He needed distance, a little space to clear his mind, because every second he glanced back over at her, stretched out on the mattress, it took all his strength not to close the distance and take her right there. But that was not how he was raised. He loved her, and he knew she cared for him, but he couldn't do this, not without her knowing.

"Emma, there's been something I've been meaning to discuss with you."

He watched as she pulled herself up on the mattress and seated herself against the pillows, straightening her hair.

His heart was thundering in his chest, but he had to do it. She had the right to know. He only hoped this wouldn't backfire on him.

"Do you remember me telling you Arl Eamon raised me?" he started softly. "Of course you remember, you remembered the amulet, you'd remember that. Stupid," he berated himself.

Shaking his head, he pitched his brow between two of his fingers. How in the void was he supposed to tell her this?

"Alistair?" she whispered, her voice coming from a lot closer than it should have. He couldn't do this with her standing only inches from him. Lowering his hand, he found her jeweled eyes staring at him, and he knew he'd have to.

"Look Emma, there really isn't any easy way to tell you this. I told you how the Arl raised me, but I didn't explain to you why." He avoided her gaze before finally blurting out. "It's because King Maric was my father."

There, finally, he'd said it.

The silence in the room was damning. He turned, afraid of what he'd find. But what he saw was Emma standing behind him, blinking blankly at him.

"Yes, and my father was Teryn Bryce Cousland. What difference does any of this make?"

For a moment he had no idea how to respond. Of all the many different scenarios he'd imagined, this certainly was not one of them.

"Uh, well, I just thought you should know."

Smiling, she sidled up to him, grazing a gentle kiss against his lips. "Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

"I would have told you, but it never really meant anything to me. I was inconvenient, a possible threat to Cailan's throne, so they kept me secret. I've never talked about it to anyone, everyone who knew either resented me for it, or coddled me. Even Duncan kept me out of the fighting because of it. I didn't want you to know as long as possible. I'm sorry."

"Oh Alistair," she whispered. "I understand."

"Seriously?" he asked. "Wow. I'm glad. It's not like I got special treatment for it anyhow."

"With Cailan dead, why continue to keep it a secret?" she asked with genuine curiosity.

"My blood has never been important to me, I spent my whole life trying to forget about it, being told that I would never sit on the throne. And that's fine by me, now if there's an heir to be found, it's Arl Eamon himself. He's not of royal blood, but he is Cailan's uncle, and very popular with the people. So there you have it, now can we move on? And I'll just pretend you still think I'm some nobody who was too lucky to die with the rest of the Grey Wardens."

"You're here with me. I think I'm the lucky one," she murmured, rising up to brush another kiss against him.

He couldn't believe what he just heard her say. "I can't believe I didn't tell you sooner. I feel completely unworthy of such a compliment."

"Stop it," she scolded him gently, her fingers lacing through his as she led him back towards the bed. "You have nothing to apologize for Alistair."

If possible, he fell in love with her all over again. He couldn't imagine what he had done in his life to find someone as unique and remarkable as her.

"Besides," she teased, winking at him the moment he lowered her back down onto the bed. "That makes you a prince. Somehow I find that very… thrilling."

A thread of anticipation strung through him at her words. "Have I finally found something positive about my damned blood line?"

She nibbled gently at his lower lip, goose bumps chasing up his chest as her little fingers dived under his tunic once more. "Prince, schmince," she whispered against him.

"You are an extraordinary woman Emma Cousland," he murmured.

"I know," she giggled, her shy exterior suddenly having vanished. Beneath him lay the most gorgeous woman he'd ever met, someone he could see himself spending the rest of his life with. With a wicked smile, he covered her body with his, intent on proving just how much he loved her.


	19. Chapter 19

**I wrote the Gauntlet a little differently. I always hated how little emotion there was for someone seeing her father again after being murdered. Hopefully y'all like the revisions. And since it is a little heavy on game dialogue, it should probably be stated that I do not own any of the plot, or characters, blah blah blah, all of which everyone already knows.**

**A/N: Thanks so much for all the reviews for the past chapter! I think it was the most popular chapter by far and I appreciate everyone's comments and for reading. Thanks so much :)  
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><p>Chapter 19<p>

She couldn't imagine waking any happier than she did on that morning. The feel of Alistair's arms wrapped around her was something she'd tried her hardest not to think on. But it was a little late for that. Unable to keep from smiling, she snuggled deeper into his chest, delighted when his arm tucked against her, drawing her as close into him as he could, even in his sleep.

Her mind strayed to the night before, if possible, her grin growing as she remembered his every caress. She'd never imagined it would feel this good and now that she had it, she never wanted to let it go. She wished she could say her first time was tender and soft. Except that'd be a lie. But it _was_ perfect. And she would never have had it any other way. His words last night rang through her mind. _We stay together, no matter what_. And that was something she was willingly dedicated to.

"Alistair," someone called a second before barging into the room.

With a small squeak, Emma dove under the covers while Alistair jumped up, his voice smothered with sleep.

"Aren't you up yet?" she heard Gilmore scold. "The rest of us are ready to leave."

"I'm up," Alistair grumbled.

"Have you seen Emma? I can't find her and her elven bodyguard is rather concerned, she apparently didn't return to the inn last night."

His fingers closed around her forearm, holding her down. "I'm sure she's fine."

"Alistair, have you forgotten that Howe wants her dead? If she's missing, we need to search for her."

Sighing, Emma slowly pulled the sheets down until she saw Gilmore standing at the edge of the room, his hands clutching to the doorframe.

"Good morning," she murmured.

After a moment's awkwardness, he finally nodded before turning away.

"The two of you need to get ready. We should be leaving soon."

And then he stalked out of the room, the door slamming shut behind him. For a few moments Emma stared at where he'd been standing. Since he'd returned from the Circle Tower, he'd been distant with her, quite a bit cold. Brushing it off, she turned back to Alistair, the site of his ruffled hair and sleepy eyes heartwarming to her.

"We should probably get up," she whispered, trying to fight back the embarrassment she still felt at Gilmore having walked in on them.

"We could," he murmured, but then he grinned down on her a second before rolling her over onto his chest. "Or…" he trailed off, but his wandering fingers finished the suggestion for him.

Laughing, she continued the movement until she spilled out of the sheets, her toes curling inwards at the touch of a cold floor. "Come on Majesty," she winked, "we have work to do."

With a low growl, he threw the covers back. She couldn't help but laugh at the absolute disconcerting look twisting his face.

"Wicked, wicked woman," he rumbled.

She quickly lowered down, brushing her lips against his once before turning and reaching for her clothes. A quick blush filled her cheeks when she found one of her linens tossed unceremoniously atop a shelf.

Before she could finish dressing, his hands were on her once more, spinning him into her, his mouth sealing over hers. From the first second, it was like hot liquid scalding her throat. As he clutched her tightly against him, she easily forgot just what it was they were supposed to be doing.

But of course that was when someone else took that moment to rap against the door.

"Emma," she heard Zevran call out. "Would you two please clothe yourself and come out of that infernal room. We have business to attend to."

Sighing, Alistair threw a heated look over her shoulder, grumbling. "I really don't like that elf of yours."

"I heard that!" he called back.

Snickering, Emma reached for her hair and quickly plated it before stalking over to the door and throwing it open. Sure enough, there was her blonde bodyguard, staring down at her with a playful gleam to his eye.

"I trust _you_ at least slept well?"

"Oh Zevran," she sighed with a shake of her head, recognizing the innuendo laced within his voice.

"Shall we? I think the other Warden is growing a touch impatient."

She glanced back to Alistair, watching as he strapped his armor on. There was just something about a man in armor that always appealed to her, and the tiny little butterflies suddenly flapping in her stomach were a little distracting.

"Emma," Zevran called, snapping his fingers in front of her face. "Concentrate."

Nodding, she turned and followed after him, the clink of Alistair's armor following in their wake.

-oOo-

"I bid you welcome, pilgrims."

"This must be the Guardian," Gilmore stated calmly, as though he'd been expecting this.

"Yes, I am the Guardian of the Ashes. I have waited years for this."

"For us?" Emma inquired softly. She couldn't help but stare at the man before them. There was something primeval and honorable about the spirit. And even though he spoke, she knew he was not actually from this world.

"You are the first to arrive in a very long time. It has been my duty, my life, to protect the Urn and prepare the way for the faithful who come to revere Andraste. For years beyond counting have I been here, and shall I remain until my task is done and the Imperium has crumbled into the sea."

"Will your task ever be done?"

"I do not know, and I do not question."

"What do you want?" Alistair asked.

"You have come to honor Andraste, and you shall, if you prove yourself worthy."

"Worthy," she whispered, leaning around Alistair for a closer look. "How are we to prove that? Must we fight him?"

Alistair's warm eyes flashed down on her once before he shrugged. It seemed all of them were a little amiss.

"Fighting does not always prove the honorable," Zevran spoke. "But the resourceful."

She nodded, knowing the truth in his words. Some of her best lessons had involved fighting to win. No one would remember how dramatic a frontal assault looked, if it failed. Surround your enemy and strike from every angle until they fell.

"It is not _my_ place to decide worthiness," the wraith commented. "The Gauntlet does that. If you are found worthy, you will see the Urn and be allowed to take a small pinch of the Ashes for yourself. If not…"

"What is the Gauntlet?" Alistair asked in a clear voice.

The apparition's eyes shot to him before shifting down to Emma, his piercing glare seemingly seeing right through her. She didn't like the attention, felt as though he was seeing everything about her.

"The Gauntlet tells the true pilgrims from the false. You will undergo four tests of faith, and we shall see how your soul fares."

"Can you tell us anything else about this Gauntlet?" Gilmore asked.

"You will understand what it is when you face it," his eyes never left her face.

An itch formed beneath her skin. Instinctively she inched closer to Alistair, hiding behind his massive armor.

"But before you go, there is something I must ask. You," he summoned her, calling Emma forward. With a deep breath, she peered out from behind Alistair. There was something a little bewildering about his eyes. Something oddly familiar that didn't sit well in the pit of her stomach.

She unwillingly stepped forward, drawn before her other companions.

"I see that the path that led you here was not easy. There is suffering in your past – your suffering, and the suffering of others. You abandoned your father and mother, leaving them in the hands of Rendon Howe, knowing he would show no mercy…"

Her fingers shot to her mouth, hiding the trembling of her bottom lip. This seemed impossible. There was no way for this spirit to know of her past. And to speak of them aloud seemed harrowing.

"Do you think you failed your parents?"

Her chest ached with the question and tears sprang to her eyes. Slowly, the memory of her parents last moments solidified before her eyes. She knew it had to be some form of magic. She _knew_ Alistair, Gilmore, and Zevran stood next to her, and yet before her, her father crawled across the blood streaked floor, mewling in pain, her mother clutching at as much of him as she could. A second later she stood behind the stone door, watching through the thin slit as Howe marched into the room. The fear she had felt was palpable once more, her heart hammering in her chest, her pulse thundering in her ears. And then, for the second time, she watched in horror as Howe drew his blade and gutted her mother, spearing her with his sword.

She was yanked back to reality at the feel of many hands pulling her away, multiple voices shouting in harmony. Hot tears washed down her cheeks, her stomach twisting with the remembered pain of watching her parents die before her eyes. As she pulled herself back together, she noted her men all standing next to her, their blades drawn, held against an invisible threat. In that moment, she knew they had shared in the memory with her, they had seen what she had. But no matter her pain, the spirit merely stood before her, stoic as ever, demanding a response.

"I do not think, spirit, I know," she mumbled in a shaky voice. "There are many things I would do different had I the opportunity."

"Thank you. That is all I wished to know."

"You are too hard on yourself," Alistair crooned to her. "It is easy to judge those when looking in hindsight."

"And what of those you travel with? Alistair, knight and Warden" the Guardian question, moving on. "You wonder if things would have been different if you were with Duncan on the battlefield. You could have shielded him from the killing blow. You wonder, don't you, if you should have died, and not him?"

"I…" he stumbled over his breath, glancing at Emma, a curious twist to his face. "Yes, at one point I did. I believed things would have been better had Duncan been saved and not me. But now… no. There are too many important things in my life for me to believe that anymore. Duncan made his choice, and I have made mine."

"Ah Gilmore, the Highever Knight," the spirit continued yet again. "You left your home in a state of siege, abandoning your lord and lady in the hopes of becoming a Grey Warden. Do you feel as though you have failed?"

Sneering, Gilmore glanced away, sheathing his sword. "My answer is my own spirit. Do you intend to plague us all with these useless questions?"

"And the Antivan elf…"

"Oh, is it my turn now?" Zevran answered snidely. "Hurrah, how exciting."

"Many have died at your hand. But is there any you regret more than a woman by the name of-"

"How do you know about that?" Zevran suddenly demanded, his voice laced with anger and rage, his fingers twitching by his blades.

"I know much, it is allowed to me. The question stands, however. Do you regret-"

"Yes," he snapped. "The answer is yes, if that is what you wish to know, I do. Now, move on spirit."

With a slight nod, the Guardian turned his attention back to the entire party. "The way is open. Good luck and may you find what you seek."

With an ominous creek, the doors before them slowly opened.

"Come on," Alistair mumbled in a low voice to the other three, leading them into the room.

Before them stood eight more spirits and Emma couldn't help but groan.

"No more questions, please."

Gilmore approached the first, but it spoke before he could. "An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. The debt of blood must be paid in full. Of what do I speak?"

"Oh how marvelous, I love riddles," Zevran joked, but even Emma could hear how forced it was. Something about what the Guardian had asked had ruffled his feathers. Of course it wasn't as though she blamed him, she was only thankful there hadn't been any other memories for them all to share.

"Vengeance," Alistair spoke up.

"Yes. My husband would have chosen a quick death for Andraste, but I made him swear she would die publicly with her war leaders and all would know the Imperium strength. I am justice, I am vengeance, blood can only be paid in blood."

With a shift in pressure, the spirit vanished before their eyes, her essence floating towards yet another door. From there, Emma sort of lost track of the questions. Alistair and Gilmore seemed to have everything under control. But she couldn't stop thinking of what she had seen. Seeing it the first time had been hard enough. It had taken a long time to clear it from her thoughts and even now, her dreams were still riddled with the memories. This time, she knew, it would take longer. The memories had begun to fade, she could no longer recall the scent of her father's blood, or the sound of her mother's strangled cries. Now, it was as though they had been infused upon her once again.

The sound of a second door creaking open woke her from her reverie. Shaking clear her thoughts, she followed behind Alistair, her eyes trailing the griffon emblazed onto the back of his armor.

The three men in front of her fell to a stop, their gazed suddenly turning to her. But it was the pain in Alistair's face that confused her.

"I should never have brought you here," he whispered to her before reaching out and taking her hand into his own.

"What, why?"

And then he led her forward, the men parting like a sea to reveal another. Stunned, she stared into a pair of familiar blue eyes. In just a second, she suddenly felt as though she were a child again, staring up into the eyes of her father.

"My dearest child," he whispered, his lips curving into a smile she never thought she'd see again.

Stumbling forward, her hand slipped from Alistair's as she reached for him. "Father!" she exclaimed, staggering forward when her hand passed right through him.

"Oh pup," he murmured. "You know that I am gone and all your prayers and wishes will not bring me back."

For the second time she felt tears spring to her eyes, but this time it was followed by the bitter taste of anger.

"Why must you torture me? Is this how we must prove ourselves worthy?"

"Any torture we may conceive for you is nothing compared to what you have been doing to yourself," his familiar voice soothed her.

She hated herself for crying, but staring into the face of the man she had held above all others, it seemed impossible to hold it in.

Hissing under her breath, she turned away, staring into the swell of Alistair's armored chest.

"Pup, I know you miss me, but my death, and my life, should no longer have a hold on you."

She pressed the heel of her hands against her eyes, murmuring under her breath, begging for him to simply go away. Was it not enough to watch her parents slaughtered before her eyes once? Let alone twice? And now, to stand here and actually be able to speak with her father, something she had longed for desperately since he had been taken from her, only to realize it was not _actually_ her father. Simply a method of testing her worthiness. Alistair was right, she should never have come.

"Set your eyes on the horizon, do not look back, and do not falter. You have such a long road ahead of you, and you must be prepared."

"Leave me alone!" she shrieked, spinning back around to face him. "You're not my father. My father is dead."

"Yes," the spirit smiled peacefully down on her. "He is. Now find your peace and let him find his."

Before another word could be uttered, the spirit, like all the others vanished.

Chest heaving, she stormed off towards the next door, pausing at a wall, her fingers grazing against it as she gulped down a lungful of air. The ache within her, no matter what she told herself, would not dissipate. It seemed burned into her every fiber of being. What sort of game was this? Did the Guardian relish in causing as much pain as possible? Did he enjoy pulling every thought and memory just to parade them before her?

"Emma," Alistair whispered behind her.

She didn't answer him, she couldn't. Squeezing her eyes shut, scalding tears coursed over her cheeks. She just wanted to go home, forget about everything that had happened in the past weeks and live her life. She didn't want to think on Howe anymore, she didn't want to long for her family. She wanted to walk down the stairs and find them all sitting happily at a table, talking amongst themselves as though nothing in the world could faze them. She wanted to see Oren practicing with his wooden sword, hear Oriana scold her for teaching things she didn't wish her son to know yet. She wanted to see her father take her mother into his arms at least once more, hear Nan shout about Spartacus, listen to Aldous scold her for not taking her lessons seriously. But none of this was possible. Never again would she see or hear any of those things. And she thought she had made her peace with it, but apparently she was wrong.

"Emma," he murmured again, his large hands armored hands curving over her shoulders and turning her towards him.

There was pain in his face, she could see it, but she didn't want to. It was only a reminder of everything she was striving to forget.

Without another word, he simply pulled her into his chest, her head resting against the heavy armor.

For a moment the other two left them be, but soon she heard the clanging of armor as Gilmore and Zevran approached them.

"Emma, I know this is upsetting, but we really do need to finish this. The sooner, the better I think."

Pulling away, she brushed some tears from her cheek and nodded. He was certainly right about that. She couldn't wait to be rid of this place.


	20. Chapter 20

**Thanks for all the readers and for the reviewers! Means a lot to me. Enjoy the next chapter!**

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><p>Chapter 20<p>

"This is most troubling. There is much to be done, that is true. But I should first be thankful to those who had done so much. Grey Wardens, Gilmore, Alistair, and of course Lady Cousland, you have not only saved my life but kept my family safe as well. I am in all of your debts. Will you permit me to offer you a reward for your services?"

"Whatever honor you wish to bless on us is appreciated," Gilmore spoke up.

Emma didn't even feel like speaking. Alistair had gone with Teagan earlier with the Ashes after they had returned and revived the Arl. But Emma, on the other hand, had simply crossed the main hall and taken a seat near the hearth. The flames warmed her outwardly but the chill inside was too strong.

Gilmore and Alistair stood just beneath the dais, listening to Eamon's words, but Emma sat behind him, her head dropped into her hands. She hadn't felt so… empty since leaving Highever. After last night, she had thought everything was taking a turn for the best. But now she just wanted to sleep.

"Then allow me to declare you and those traveling with you champions of Redcliffe. You will always be a welcome guest within these halls."

"Hurrah," she grumbled, adopting a favorite phrase of Zevran's.

"Emma," the elf whispered, standing directly behind her. Cringing, she turned her attention back to the fire. It was never good if he was cautioning her.

"Emma," Eamon murmured, "Teagan and Alistair have told me everything of your plight. You have my condolences and my promise to assist you in any way possible, once the Blight has been dealt with, of course."

"Of course," she mumbled under her breath.

"We should speak of Loghain, brother," Teagan spoke up. "There is no telling what he will do once he learns of your recovery."

Sighing, Emma tuned out the conversation. She couldn't even describe how much she just didn't care right now. She simply wanted to leave, maybe take a hot bath, and just relax. But, as per usual, it was all business.

A warm hand fell heavily on her shoulder and she glanced up to find Alistair smiling gently down on her. For a brief moment, the tight constriction of her insides eased. Staring up into his eyes, she knew everything would be alright so long as he was here with her.

At the mention of his name, both turned.

"I would not purpose such a thing if we had an alternative. But the unthinkable has occurred."

The entire room fell into a hush, except for Zevran who eyed both Emma and Alistair curiously.

Unable to stay quiet, she rose from her chair. "You intend to put Alistair forward as King?"

She wasn't entirely sure how she felt about that. While it would do wonders for him and was an amazing opportunity she had no idea what that meant for them. Technically, she was a Cousland, which was an appropriate choice for a King of Ferelden, but her house was in a state of uproar. Who knew what the future held for her or him if they put him forward as King.

"Teagan and I have a claim through marriage, but we would seem opportunistic, no better than Loghain. Alistair's claim is by blood."

She couldn't ignore that. His claim was certainly stronger than any other's in the country. Staring up at him, his armor glowing in the firelight, the light stubble covering his jaw, his golden hair, longer now than it was in Ostagar, she couldn't help but feel in awe. Theirin blood ran through his veins and now, she could see it. Funny how one's opinion could change in a heartbeat. Last night he was simply Alistair, bastard child of King Maric, someone she cared deeply for, maybe even loved. And now, with a simple phrase, she saw a King.

"Alistair as King," she murmured.

With an amused grin, his head tilted down to meet her gaze. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

She had no idea how she was looking, "What way?"

Of course, the elf took this moment to speak. "One might say with admiration, adoration, or even longing."

"Shut up Zev," she hissed under her breath, her cheeks flushing with blood.

Chuckling, Alistair turned back to Eamon. "In all honesty, it's what I assumed would happen. Loghain cannot be allowed to take the throne."

"It is much more than that though, Alistair," Eamon preached. "You have a responsibility. You are the last remaining Theirin, the throne falls to you. It's only appropriate."

Nodding, Alistair glanced back at Emma who sidled up next to him. She wanted to ask him how he felt about this but not in front of Eamon.

"I see only one way to proceed. I will call for a Landsmeet, a gathering of all of Ferelden's nobility in the city of Denerim. There, Ferelden can decide who shall rule, one way or another."

"Sound plan," Emma commented. She might not have known as much of politics as her father would have hoped but she had picked things up along the way. Forcing a Landsmeet was an effective way to bring Loghain to justice. As it was, without any to stand against him, the nobles were simply falling into place, afraid to speak up against him, seen by Alfstanna and Franderel. But to publicly announce there was another who might lead, one more fitting, Loghain would have to pay for every crime committed against the country. A tiny bubble of hope welled within her. This might be the chance she needed to reclaim her land.

Before she could voice this opinion, Eamon's eyes fell on hers and he nodded, as though sensing where her thoughts had gone.

"Emma, as the last remaining Cousland, your voice will carry. You may not understand this yet, but when the nobles gather in Denerim, I think it'll be clear to you. The Cousland's were one of the most honorable and strongest families. Many will side with you, no matter what way you choose simply because you area Cousland. You are seen as smart and wise, brave and admirable. Regardless of Howe's hold on your land, you will have quite the say at this Landsmeet. And if we are to go forward with this, you would most likely be the strongest force for Alistair."

"I will not _use_ her," Alistair growled. "If we cannot win the throne honorably-"

"Politics are not honorable, Ali," Emma murmured. "That was the first thing my father taught me. Whatever you choose, King or not, you know you have my support."

The room fell silent once more, her words echoing.

"Perhaps this is something meant to be discussed in private," Alistair whispered.

"I agree," Eamon suggested. "Either way, it is important for Emma to accompany us to Denerim. As the rightful heir to the Cousland terynir, she would be expected at the Landsmeet either way. Once the Landsmeet is sorted, the business of fighting our true foe can begin. What say you to that Emma? I would not wish to proceed without your blessing."

Shocked, she glanced to him. "You defer to me?"

"Of us all, you are the one with the loudest voice, the strongest backing, not in arms, but in name. I defer to a Cousland."

She couldn't help but feel a slight bit of pride. Finally, someone stood before her who understood exactly who she was. And finally, for the first time since being ejected from her home, she began to see the possibility of returning.

"Well, this is a rather bold move and I think we all know just how Loghain shall respond. However, it is the best option we have. The Landsmeet is an opportunity for us to bring Loghain's crimes forward for all to bear witness to. I say we go forward with it."

"Very well, I will send out the word. Within days nobles from every corner of Ferelden will begin pouring into Denerim."

Sighing, Emma threw a glance to Zevran. Here they had spent so much time traveling the country in search of all the nobles. And within moments Eamon had arranged for them all to come to her. The elf started laughing at her pointed look, his hands now hovering over the flames.

"It will take some time to recall my forces and organize my allies. I would prefer to wait until that is done before calling the Landsmeet. It shouldn't take more than a few days. But you are all welcome to remain here until we are ready to leave for Denerim."

"Actually," Emma spoke up. "I feel as though I should leave for Denerim immediately. It would be best for me to arrive before the other nobles. I'd prefer to speak with them about my homeland, secure their alliances before facing Loghain or Maker forbid, Howe, at the Landsmeet."

"Fair enough," he nodded, shooting a quick glance to Alistair. "Would I be right in assuming you will be accompanying her?"

Alistair merely gave a sharp nod.

"So be it. We will meet in Denerim. I have an estate there. Make yourself at home, I will send with you a letter informing the servants they are to attend to your every need."

"Much appreciated," Emma commented with a bow of her head.

"And Gilmore?" Alistair asked.

He merely shrugged. "I suppose I will head to camp and arrange the rest of the group. We will leave as soon as we are able for Denerim."

"Very well," Alistair said before turning back to Emma. "I believe we have a conversation to finish in private."

The snickering of the elf behind her was not lost on her ears. But before she could silence him, he leaned over dramatically and whispered in her ear, "Do try to actually speak to one another."

"Zevran!" she hissed.

But he was already jogging off the dais, laughing loudly. "I'll go with the Warden, I think."

Shaking her head, she followed after Alistair, crossing through the hallway doors and stalking up the stairs.

Once in their room, Alistair turned and took her into her arms. "Before we turn to politics, I just want to make sure you're alright."

She couldn't help but smile up at him. "I'm fine. Believe it or not Eamon made me feel a lot better. Knowing that this is finally coming to an end is helpful. But onto business…"At his groan, she laughed.

"I don't agree with using your family name to make a bid for the throne."

She reached up and ran her fingers through his now wavy hair. "Alistair, do you want to be King? Truthfully."

-oOo-

-Alistair-

Her question rocked him to the core. He couldn't help but stand there and stare down at her, wondering the answer himself. Originally, before he had met her, his answer would have been a loud resounding no. But Gilmore's words continued to ring through his head. Who was he if he wasn't a King? If he couldn't step up to this, how could he ever be worthy enough for her? He wanted all the happiness in the world for her. But he also _wanted_ her. And if that meant that he had to take on the throne of Ferelden, so be it. And with every passing day, he was slowly beginning to realize that he did want it. All the years of people talking down on him, treating him as though he was nothing, could finally amount to something. For once he could look at someone and just _know_ that he was their King. While that was a heady thought, it was almost enchanting. Add in the idea of always being with Emma Cousland and he was happier than a bug in a rug.

So the answer was – "Yes, I do."

"Okay. Then I will support you."

For a moment he fell quiet, but eventually the question sprang forth his lips. "And if I didn't?"

There was no hesitation in her answer. "Then I would support that. I am not here to put you on a throne. Alistair you mean… so much to me," she whispered. "More than…" she stuttered a little before clearing her throat. "Whatever you want, I will support." For a moment she paused and her words echoed through his ears. "You aren't doing this because it's what Eamon wants, is it?"

"No," he shook his head. "I want this."

He wanted her. The throne was simply something he'd have to deal with to have her. And he was perfectly content with that. As long as she remained by his side, he could do anything, including run a country.

"But that doesn't mean that I'm okay with using your family name."

Her smile was gentle and reassuring. "As I said, this is the game of politics. Don't worry about my name. If this is what you want, you have my vote."

"Emma-"

"Hush," she murmured, rising up on her tiptoes to brush a kiss against his lips. Instantly his heart leapt into his throat, his arms tightening around her waist and pressing her against him. "Let me worry about my name. You just worry about running the country."

At that he couldn't help but laugh. His job was certainly a little more demanding.

"We should get packing," she mentioned, tucked into his chest.

He couldn't help but loathe his armor as this moment, he was dying to feel her skin against his. He lowered down and brushed a chaste kiss against her neck.

"I have another idea."

Chuckling, she looped her arms around his neck. "Oh what would Zevran say."

"Hey, we talked," was the last thing he said before claiming her mouth, his fingers practically tearing away her armor.

Yes, for her, he'd be King.


	21. Chapter 21

**Enjoy everybody! I had to alter the conversation with Goldanna just a little because obviously Cousland isn't a Grey Warden :)**

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><p>Chapter 21<p>

-Emma-

Traveling with Alistair was quite a bit different than traveling with Zevran. While the elf was pleasant enough company, there was something relaxing about Alistair. If the two felt no need to speak, they didn't, and yet there was no awkwardness between them; no prolonged silences interrupted with needless chatter. Occasionally he would point something out, like a traveling merchant down the road, or share with her something humorous. Soon she could see Denerim, its walls standing tall and proud.

"Wait," Alistair murmured, drawing Emma back just as they were about to enter the Denerim gates. "There's something I'd like to do while we're here."

"Of course."

"Well, the thing is, my sister lives in Denerim."

Emma's eyes widened. "Your sister?" For a moment all she could imagine was a horde of the King's illegitimate children. How many could there be?

"Well, half sister. I only learned of her recently and looked her up just after Ostagar. Her address is in town. If we have time, do you think...?"

"You'd like to meet her? Of course, we can definitely take some time to do that."

His face broke out into a smile. "Thanks."

With that, they entered the city. Emma's eyes were everywhere. As a child, she'd loved Denerim. Her father used to buy her fresh flowers from Liselle every time they came, of course until her tastes grew a little more varied. Then he'd turned to Wade. There'd been so many daggers and swords he'd relished on her, all now trapped with Highever. Swallowing past a sudden assault of fear, she pushed onwards. There was no reason to fear Denerim. In fact maybe she'd take a side stop to see Wade, close that bridge in her life.

Her smile grew at the sound of the Mother and Sister's chanting in the background. While she wasn't a huge believer in the Maker, she had to admit she loved the sound of the prayers.

"My Lady!" a voice gushed above the crowd.

Emma fell to a stop the moment a young girl came running up to her, her face glowing.

"Habren!" Emma exclaimed, taking the young girl into her arms for a quick hug. "Maker's breath girl, it's been years. How have you been?"

"Quite well," she squealed, tucking her brown hair behind her ear. "Father told me you had come for a visit. I was absolutely aghast when you didn't ask to see me."

Emma's gaze rose, searching the crowd. "Is your father in town?"

"Of course, in the tavern, where else?"

Smiling, Emma nodded. "Forgive me Habren, I'd like for you to meet Alistair."

Emma stepped aside then and allowed Alistair to come forward. With a polite smile he clasped the young girl's hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

Emma couldn't help but snicker under her breath at the site of the young girl's eyes practically popping out of her head.

"Oh," she murmured. "Uh, I should... Bye Emma!"

And then she took off, barking orders at her nearby elves.

Bewildered Alistair turned to Emma, "What did I do?"

Laughing, Emma only shook her head. Howdy you explain to someone that he's almost _too _handsome? The poor girl hadn't stood a chance in his company.

At the sight of his face suddenly paling, Emma followed his gaze to a door. There was nothing special about it but she had a feeling this was it.

"Alistair?" she asked.

"What if she doesn't know who I am?" he asked quiety, "My sister... Maker that feels weird to say... Sister... Sister..."

"Are you sure you're ready for this?"

"Why?" he asked, glancing softy down at her. "Do I seem nervous?"

Her smile was apparently answer enough.

"I suppose I am. But that's understandable right?"

"Completely so."

A flicker of Fergus popped in her mind, but with a quick mental shake, she cleared it away. Now was about Alistair meeting his sister.

"If you're ready," she said calmly before lifting her hand and rapping her knuckles against the deformed wooden door.

In the distance they heard someone become them in.

Emma cast Alistair another glance. Then finally with a nod, she pushed open the door and they both entered.

-Alistair-

Upon first glance, he wondered if the house was empty. The only thing he could hear was the sound of the bustling market outside. Emma shuffled awkwardly next to him, her hand grazing against his fingers. For a moment he glanced down at her, reveling in the butterflies dancing through his stomach before remembering just where they were.

"Err, hello?" he finally called out, his voice echoing through the tiny little house.

"Eh? You have linens to wash?" a woman questioned, suddenly rounding the corner. Alistair sized her up, noting the rags she fashioned. "I charge three bits on the bundle, you won't find better. And don't trust what that Natalia woman tells you either, she's foreign and will rob you blind."

Slightly taken aback, he stood stunned. After a few moment of awkward silence Emma nudged him forward.

"Oh… uh… I'm not here to have any wash done. My name is Alistair. I'm… well, this may sound sort of strange, but are you Goldanna? If so, I suppose I'm your brother."

"My what? I am Goldanna, yes… how do you know my name? What kind of tomfoolery are you folk up to?"

Clearing his throat, he tried again, his heath thundering in his chest. He had a feeling that if Emma weren't beside him right now he wouldn't be doing this. It was only in her presence that he felt as though he could do anything. Surprisingly, at this moment, he hated that.

"Look, our mother… she worked as a servant in Redcliffe Castle, a long time ago, before she died. Do you know about that? She-"

"You!" she exclaimed. "I knew it! They told me you was dead! They told me the babe was dead along with mother, but I knew they was lying!"

"They told you I was dead?" he asked, shocked once again. "Who? Who told you that?"

"Thems at the castle! I told them the babe was the king's, and they said he was dead. Gave me a coin to shut my mouth and sent me on my way! I knew it!"

"I'm… I'm sorry. I didn't know that. The babe didn't die, I'm him. I'm… you brother."

He was sure what he expected. Not an open armed hug, or a full welcome into her home and life, but he certainly didn't expect the sudden snort, or the twisted look of scorn distorting her face.

"For all the good it does me! You killed Mother, you did, and I've had to scrape by all this time? That coin didn't last long, and when I went back they ran me off!"

Emma suddenly stepped up until she was flush with him. "Goldanna, that's hardly Alistair's fault."

He knew the moment she spoke this wasn't going to go well. Wincing, his lips parted, hoping to steer the enraged woman off course, but suddenly those spiteful eyes narrowed in on Emma, her lips turning down in disproval.

"And who in the Maker's name are you? Some tart, following after his riches, I expect?"

"Hey! Don't speak to her that way! She's my friend, and Lady Cousland, head of the estate!"

He felt the alarm within Emma. She shot a glance to him before shifting awkwardly. "I have my own riches," she mumbled under her breath, glancing away.

"Oooh, I see. A prince and Lady Cousland, too. Well, who am I to think poorly of those so high and mighty compared to me? I don't know you, boy. Your royal father forced himself on my mother and took her away from me, and what do I got to show for it? Nothing! They trucked me good! I should have told everyone! I got five mouths to feed, and unless you can help with that, I got less than no use for you."

It wasn't only anxiety or shock spinning through him, but anger now as well. He'd never imagined his sister to be so… heartless. She was blaming him for things that had never even been his fault, things he couldn't have known about or even taken care of. And now, she was digging for gold. Prince, Grey Warden, whatever he was, he knew when someone was simply trying to spin things to advantage them and this was certainly one of those situations.

"I'm… sorry," he grumbled. "I don't know what to say."

He felt Emma's eyes on him, but he couldn't meet them. Not without some sort of emotion spilling out and he didn't want that, not in front of either of them.

"Goldanna," she breathed, ignoring Alistair's attempts to quiet her. "Alistair came here hoping to find his family."

"Well he found it," she snapped.

"I don't know why I came here," he grumbled.

"I don't know why you came, either, or what you expected to find. But it isn't here! Now get out of my house, the both of you!"

Sighing, Emma laced her fingers through his. "Ali, maybe we should just go?"

When she had used that little nickname on him yesterday in the Arl's hall, he'd felt nothing but happiness. But this time, it was simply nothing.

"I agree," he whispered. "Let's get out of here."

The door seemed to open of its own accord, as though the house was kicking them out just as fervently as Goldanna. The moment he crossed back into the market, he stared forward. He caught the sound of Emma shutting the door behind her before she snuck up behind him,

"Well, that was… not what I expected, to put it lightly," he commented before turning to see her. Ignoring the fact that he felt abandoned all over again, he couldn't ignore the embarrassment. "This is the family I've been wondering about all my life? That… shrew is my sister? I can't believe it.

"I guess I was expecting her to accept me without question. Isn't that what family is supposed to do? I… I feel like a complete idiot."

"No, Alistair," she crooned, taking his hands into hers. "Trust me, you are no idiot. You wanted to find your family. There is _nothing_ wrong with that. Take it from someone who has lost everything. You took charge, and you met her. You did. Maybe she isn't what you'd hoped but now there is no regret, no longing, no asking what if. You will go on in your life and be better because of it."

Her words were warming. He couldn't help but smile at the tiny woman in front of him attempting to console him.

"People," she drifted for a moment. "People only care about themselves. Take my situation as example. Howe murdered my family to better his own life. He slaughtered those that he called friends. Your sister, once recognizing you, leapt on the only advantage of knowing you that she could find. Gold. A tie to royalty. You don't need someone like that. You have those that care about you. All those you travel with, Gilmore, and… me."

"You," he murmured, leaning down closer to her.

"Yes, me," her voice grew quiet, those blue eyes growing larger with each millimeter he closed.

"Let's forget about Goldanna. We're here so you can meet and talk with the nobles. Shall we?"

She nodded, her gaze flicking down to his lips once. With a resigned sigh, he drew away and turned, taking her hand into hers. They were closing down in on the tavern when he turned, a smile tugging at his lips.

"Wait here," he said.

"What? Where are you going?"

He wanted to forget about Goldanna, he wanted to return to the life he was working towards. Goldanna was his past, Emma his future. And he wanted to give her something as thanks for her support in everything. For understanding when he told her he was the bastard son of Maric, for allowing him to make up his own mind about what path he wanted to take, for supporting him when he wanted to meet his sister. She'd been there through it all and he was grateful. He wanted to show it.

"Just wait here," he smiled before leaning down and brushing a kiss across her cheek.

He took a step away, their fingers slowly parting before he turned and started towards the Wonders of Thedas shop. His whole life he had heard rumors of the wondrous things sold in this shop.

Little bells chimed the moment he pushed open the door. Surprisingly the shop was quite empty.

"May I help you?" the proprietor questioned in a listless voice.

Alistair glanced up and was shocked once again when he found a tranquil standing before him. He'd heard of them but had never actually seen one. But the Templar in him _knew_ there was still something inside him. Something the mage itself couldn't access, but it was there either way.

"Oh, yes, I just wanted to browse your wares."

"Certainly," the tranquil stated before turning.

Alistair browsed the shelves, his eyes scouring over all the little trinkets, poultices, ingredients, and herbs. Finally his eyes settled on a tiny little bracelet. While she wasn't a jewelry sort of girl, he could easily see her liking this one. It was simple, a band of silver, with a lovely garnet centered on it.

"Excuse me," he called the proprietor back over. "How much for this piece?"

"Seventy-five silver," he stated emotionlessly.

Nodding, Alistair agreed to the price and handed it over, waiting as the mage wrapped it up for him. But as he did, Alistair's eyes kept wandering, until something flashed at him. Curious, he wandered over to it, his eyes widening at the sight of a diamond ring. He couldn't believe the Wonders of Thedas would stock such a gem. The ring was actually gorgeous and he knew from the first sight that it was an engagement ring, not something merely meant as a gift, but with an offer of a lifetime commitment.

And yet he couldn't draw his gaze away from it. He had come searching for something to show Emma how much he cared for her. He wanted to spoil her, but even from the beginning he knew it was more than that. He _knew_ that he wanted her, forever. He knew that to do so meant he would need to take the throne and he had already accepted that idea. Now, all that was left was actually taking it. But what of after? He knew he never wanted to be parted from her, for the slightest moment. If that wasn't commitment, he didn't know what was. The two had even promised to one another to stay together, no matter what.

"Here you are," the mage stated, handing him the package.

Alistair turned to him, feeling slightly crazy but asked anyways. "How much for the ring?"

The tranquil's eyes shifted to the side. "It is a wonderful piece, so I have been told. It has been priced at one hundred and seventy five gold."

He whistled through his teeth. That was _a lot_ of gold. And yet, as he turned back to look at it once more, he knew it was perfect and doubted he'd ever find anything quite so wonderful anywhere else.

Swallowing, he nodded once more. "I'll take that as well."

"Wise choice," the mage stated before reaching for the ring.

His heart was thundering in his chest as he watched him wrap that gift up as well. He had no idea when he intended to present it to her, or even ask for her hand, but he knew this was the ring he wanted when he did.

The mage handed it over, feeding him an emotionless grin before Alistair left. He felt as though the weight in his pocket had tripled but he still headed back to her with a hop in his step and a grin on his face.

Of course that was until he found an almost riotous crowd circling the center of the market, their voices raised in outrage.

Alistair's eyes swept the entire market, searching for Emma but she was nowhere to be found.

A feeling of terror crept into his soul the moment the crowd parted and the young woman from before bolted over to him.

"Alistair!" she shouted. "They took her!"

His heart leapt into his throat.

"Who took her?"

"Howe and his men! They came and arrested her in front of all of us, just took her!"

"Arrested her?" he demanded, his eyes taking in her tear stained face.

"Habren!" another shouted. "What's happening?"

"Oh father," she wailed. "Howe's men took Emma!"

"Emma Cousland? She's here?"

Habren turned back to Alistair. "She was here with him."

Her father's eyes shifted to him, his brow creasing the moment he recognized him. Maker, was he starting to hate that look again. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "You are?"

"Arl Bryland," he said. "I was one of her father's closest friends. What are we going to do?"

Alistair spun on the spot, his fingers pinching his brow. That was a wonderful question, what could he do? Panic pumped adrenaline through his veins. He needed to find her, needed to save her. Howe would have her slaughtered in a heartbeat, anything to secure his claim on Highever. She was the last remaining obstacle for him and he had left her alone, in the middle of the market, where all eyes could see her. How stupid could he have been? Suddenly, the engagement ring in his pocket felt like lead.


	22. Chapter 22

**Okay, please, please don't hate me. I wanted to include Alistair in this chapter but when I was done writing Emma's, I felt it needed to stay this way. **

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><p>Chapter 22<p>

For the second time in her life, she felt fear. Not just scared, but a full out terror. Her skin felt slick with a cold sweat, her stomach churning, her chest heaving for air. She had only been alone for moments before a horde of armored men had marched up to her. Within seconds, hushed whispers filled the market, every person's eyes glued on the situation that was about to unfold. She had known them for who they were the moment she saw them. Funny, how one second of foolishness might have just ended her life.

As she watched them approach, different scenarios played out in her head, none of which ended pleasantly. Not only was she outmanned, but the fear of an innocent getting hurt, an innocent like Habren, who just happened to be watching the scene with utter terror twisting her face, held her frozen in place. Emma knew she'd never be able to live with herself if Bryland's daughter was caught in the middle.

"No, Habren," she had shouted, a second after the girl moved towards her.

These were Howe's men, they were not honorable. She knew they'd show no regret for cutting down a young teenager.

As they closed the distance, it was though time itself stopped. Slowly, she glanced in the direction Alistair had wandered to, scalding tears welling in her eyes. There was no hope, she realized, as another throng closed in behind her. At the distinct sound of a sword being drawn, she turned back, meeting the eyes of the commander.

The tip of the sword waivered at her throat, the threat evident. One move and they'd slice her down just as quickly.

A crowd had begun to form around her, dozens of eyes watching in horror.

Slowly, she reached for her belt and unclasped the buckle, the sound of her blades falling to the ground something she'd never forget. She would not see any of these people harmed on her behalf and she knew, just from their furor, it could easily become a mob. Sometimes honor was not simply fighting, but knowing when to withdraw. Another lesson her father had taught her. Live to fight another day, only the brave die young.

Well, this was to be one of the bravest things she had ever done. With her lower lip trembling, she told herself she would walk, bold faced to her death and never look back.

Except they hadn't killed her. She waited for the inescapable moment when the steel ripped open her chest. She'd felt it before, she remembered every moment, every sound of shattering bone and the feel of her organs rupturing. But the pain never came, the darkness never delivered. Instead, the commander motioned to a man behind her, whose armored hands clumsily gripped her shoulders and shoved her roughly forwards.

And now she stood in the Arl of Denerim's estate, in other words, Teryn Howe's city estate. The moment they had crossed within the grounds, her breath had caught in her throat. Not only was she to be murdered, but by the same man that had dealt the same punishment to her parents.

The door before her opened, and the main man himself sauntered in, a sick smile twisting his lips. Many nights she'd wondered how she would feel upon seeing him. Would she fear him? Hate him? Surprisingly, she felt nothing.

"Well, well," he drawled. "What do we have here? Bryce Cousland's little spitfire, all grown up and still playing the man. I thought I made it clear that your pathetic family is gone and forgotten. I never thought you'd be fool enough to turn up here, but then… I never thought you'd turn up."

And now she felt hate. It burned through her veins until she could feel it pouring from her eyes. She'd never felt such fury in her before. Her hateful eyes flashed down to the blades strapped to him, recognizing the one that had run her mother through.

Before she could contain herself, she lunged at him, her words coming out in a guttural growl, "When I'm through with you, I'll kill your wife and daughter too!"

A sharp pain struck down her back and she dropped just inches in front of Howe. Groaning she flipped onto her back, watching as the guard sheathed his sword. It'd been a long time since someone had struck her with the blunt end.

"Isn't that precious?" he laughed raucously. "Is this where I lament the monster I helped create? Let me show you how it's done: I made your mother kiss my feet before she died, it was the last thing your father saw. Meet my sword, and change that."

She knew it was a lie, _knew_, because she'd been there and seen it all. Logic told her it was meant to hurt and enrage her. And yet, she couldn't contain the actual burst of anger that swelled within her. She shot to her feet, leaping for him once more.

With another laugh, he took a single step back as another guard rushed forwards, his shield catching her in the face. She crumpled, her hands immediately covering her face.

"Is this about your family? Still? But I have done so much more than wipe your name from Ferelden memory. Oh get up," he snapped, toeing her in the gut.

Large hands grasped at her and reefed her back up. She lowered her hands, sneering as blood dripped down into her mouth.

"Oh that's attractive," he taunted. "Your parents died on their knees, your brother's corpse rots in Ostagar, and his brat was burned on a scrap heap, along with his Antivan whore of a wife. And what's left? A fool of a daughter who thought it possible to end my reign. You're the last of _nothing_. This is pointless, you've lost."

"Just keep telling yourself that," she hissed. "I know _what_ you are, and believe me, you won't be the last one standing by the end of this."

The room fell silent, her words echoing through the large room.

"And there it is, right there," he mumbled. "That damned look in the eye that marked every Cousland success that held me back. It would appear that you have made something of yourself after all. Your father would be proud. I, on the other hand, want you dead more than ever."

Growing frustrated, Emma threw her arms open. "Then do it, I'm unarmed! Go on! Kill me. Anything is better than standing here trading insults with a worthless Howe, not good enough to amount to anything without murdering those he called friends!"

With another unsound smirk. "Don't be so impatient for death, dear girl. There are still some things I need answered."

She glowered at him, praying to the Maker that it would be enough to destroy him. Yet again, she was let down.

"My information tells that you have been speaking with some nobles. We know of Bryland for sure, who else have you propositioned for help?"

Shock wound through her. He actually expected her to divulge that information? To betray those she considered friends?

When she remained taciturn, he stomped forward and lashed out, the back of his hand connecting with her cheek with a resounding crack. Her head whipped to the side, her face throbbing instantly.

"Do not play games with me Emma! Bryland was easy, a lifelong friend of your father, of course you would go there, but who else? Tell me!"

She flipped her hair back around, casting him another glare.

"The templar and bastard prince will be dealt with, obviously, along with all others you've traveled with."

At the mention of Alistair, her heart leapt into her throat. "You'd never-"

"What?" he laughed. "Kill a King? Gee, and here I thought we'd done that already."

She stared at him wide-eyed.

"Oh please, Emma. Don't tell me you hadn't thought this through. Now, make this easier on yourself and tell me what I want to know."

There was only one name left to protect, Bann Loren. And there was _no _way she was giving that name up. Not after what happened to Dairren and Lady Landra.

He struck again, her other cheek suddenly throbbing. Her entire face was pounding, the blood cooling against her skin.

But she held quiet. Howe's beady little eyes narrowed in on her. If he knew her at all, or understood her family name, he'd know she'd never talk. She'd never betray those she was loyal to.

And apparently he did understand. With a grim line set to his lips, he turned to the guards. "Take her down below. I'm almost positive some time spent in Jorin's care will loosen those lovely lips of hers."

To the brusque laughter echoing around her she felt a tiny spark of fear. She had no idea who Jorin was and she wasn't sure she wanted to be in his 'care'.

The first hands that grabbed her, she broke free of and rushed the door. Live to fight another day, her father had said. But this wouldn't be it. Before she had even made it three steps, more men lunged for her, reefing her backwards towards a door.

She tried to struggle, try to gain distance from them but there was simply too many. At the sight of Howe vanishing from her sight the moment the door clicked shut, she grew enraged and lashed out, using the man's weight behind her as leverage she kicked her feet up in the air, striking out at any within close proximity of her. But it proved useless, she felt as though she were fighting against waves of water, breaking and flowing around her.

And then she was tossed forward, staggering to find her balance as they released her.

"What do we have here?" a voice came from the shadows in front of her.

"Howe wants you to show her a good time," one of the guards spoke, she wasn't sure which.

"Indeed."

The man stepped out of the shadows. Instinctively she inched backwards, something about his eyes terrifying her.

"Well, well, let's see what we have here, shall we?"

He withdrew a blade from his belt and stalked forward. He paused a moment before her, his fingers lifting her hair and caressing her.

"Such lovely skin, it will be a shame to scar it."

Her chest started to heave once more. Part of her was afraid to look away from him but there was something calling her attention. A quick flick behind him had her heart thundering in her chest, her pulse racing with fear.

Hanging from the rafters were three bodies. The room had grown silent enough that she could hear the soft dripping of their blood as it hit the cement. As far as her eyes could see were wooden rack torture beds, and an iron maiden. She'd read of these devices in books before, her skin growing even colder. To walk bravely into your death was one thing, but this… she shook with trepidation.

Metal clanged, snapping her attention back to Jorin to find he had shackled her hands together. And then with quick swipes, he began his work. Her eyes squeezed shut as she whispered Alistair's name over and over again. But there was no pain, at least not yet.

More laughter and a cold breeze opened her eyes. Her clothes lay in a heap on the floor, her body exposed to every man staring at her.

"Bring her," Jorin ordered before turning towards the dungeon.

"No!" she screamed, bucking backwards. Someone yanked on her chains, pulling her sharply into the room.

"Place her on the bed," he commented emotionlessly.

Knowing she would struggle, three guards stepped forward and together lifted her right off her feet and strapped her down. Her arms were strained above her head before her wrists were attached to one roller, her ankles another.

Once they confirmed she was secured, they backed off.

"Leave," Jorin commanded.

With lingering glances they left.

"You know why you are here, yes?" he asked.

Even through her terror, she recognized the Antivan accent.

"Please," she whimpered. "Please, don't do this."

"Give me the information he wants and I will release you."

She shook her head vigorously, tiny splinters of wood digging through her scalp.

"So be it," he whispered before reaching for the wheel.

The guards left the room then, chased by her deafening screams piercing every corner of the estate.


	23. Chapter 23

**Wow! Broke 10,000 hits! That's amazing. Thanks to everyone reading and a special thanks to the reviewers as well :). Again, I know this chapter is a little short, but it felt right to end it there. Hope everyone is still enjoying the story.**

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><p>Chapter 23<p>

-Alistair-

Heart lodged in his throat, Alistair spun and with both fists slammed the smaller elf against the unyielding wall. Within another heartbeat, his arm was pressed against Zevran's throat, cutting off his airway.

"You will show some respect," Alistair growled.

Gasping for air, Zevran managed to hiss, "Do not make the mistake of thinking you are the only man who cares for Emma in this room."

Slamming him once more against the wall, Alistair leaned in close, his lips rearing back in hate. "You are_ not_ a man."

The elf's face darkened in anger, but before either of them could continue, the fair sister dove between them, struggling to push Alistair back.

"Boys, this does not solve the problem."

The two shared a glare before Alistair finally released him and backed off. Pinching his brow, he resumed his pacing, every few moments shooting a glance towards the door, praying with all his strength that Eamon chose that moment to return to them.

"Answer me this," Zevran's piqued voice rose within the room, his accent thicker in his rage. "Why are we simply sitting here when there is a castle to storm?"

Grumbling under his breath, Alistair lowered into a chair. Without her here, he felt lost, the void where his heart once beat now empty and bleak. He was at a loss of what to do. No one had been any help with their suggestions. Sadly, the only two that had agreed were him and the elf. Both believed laying siege to the castle was the only way to get her back, but Eamon who had arrived along with Gilmore and the rest of the party had vetoed that. He felt it would 'declare outright war' with Loghain and Howe. Alistair didn't care about any repercussions. The only thing he feared was being too late.

Sighing in frustration, he dropped his head down into his hands. They all knew what Howe would do. He had beset her own estate and murdered every person that stood in his way. Why would Emma be the exception?

"Because Eamon-"

"_Braska_!" Zevran shouted. "Do you truly think I care about this Eamon-"

Gilmore leapt to his feet, his brown eyes burning with fury. "Watch your mouth elf."

A hush crept over the room, each of his companions sharing awkward glances.

"Alistair," the elf pleaded, surprisingly turning to him for assistance, even after their little scuffle. "Alistair, please tell me you at least see reason?" Zevran's hands flattened on the table as he leaned forward. "You cannot truly mean to leave her there?"

He stared at the tiny imperfections built into the floor, silent to Zevran's pleas. Her flawless sapphire eyes flashed in his mind but it only furthered his anguish.

"Alistair!" Zevran shouted just seconds before striking the table.

Dead eyes turned to take in the elf. Jaw clenched, enraged eyes, cheeks flushed, Alistair knew exactly what he felt.

"I don't understand! You two are Wardens, are you not? Every soul in this room has heard the magnificent stories. You've conquered worlds, tamed griffins. But Maker help me, you fall apart at the first threat! Emma loves you, Alistair. And here the two mighty Wardens sit, licking their wounds while there is work to be done. I've known whores with more courage than you!"

He took a deep, steadying breath. Leliana was right, this would not accomplish anything. And yet, surprisingly, he still wanted to throttle the assassin. Alistair merely turned to the doorway and waited. Just moments after Eamon had vetoed the storming idea, he'd been summoned to a meeting. Alistair had managed to swallow his frustration and impatience, knowing with Eamon it would get him nowhere. So now it was the waiting game and he intended to make use of it plotting plans. If storming wasn't acceptable, he was working on ideas involving subterfuge, his eyes constantly wandering to Leliana. The bard would have her ways.

"Leliana," he mumbled. "Please tell me you have some ideas."

A small smile blossomed on the bard's face just a second before her lips parted. He knew she'd come to his rescue. But of course that was the moment Eamon chose to enter.

"Wardens," he addressed them, rudely cutting Leliana off.

Alistair leapt to his feet, Zevran and Gilmore rushing forward with him.

"There's been a slight change of plans."

Another elf peeked out from behind him, her long dark hair pulled back.

"Who's this?" Alistair questioned.

"I'd like for you to meet Erlina. She's-"

"I am Queen Anora's handmaiden," she interrupted, casting a disproving look at both Alistair and Gilmore. "She sent me here to ask for your help."

"Anora?" Alistair repeated.

They must have lost their minds. If Eamon thought he was helping anybody other than Emma right now, he was insane.

"The queen, she is in a difficult position. She loved her husband, no? And trusted her father to protect him. When he returns with no king and only dark rumors, what is she to think? She worries, no? But when she tries to speak with him, he does not answer. He tells her 'not to trouble herself'."

"Just get to the point," Alistair growled.

"My queen suspects she cannot trust her father. And Loghain, he is very subtle, no? But Rendon Howe, he is privy to all the secrets and… not so subtle."

At the mention of Howe, Alistair perked, now listening to what she was saying.

"So she goes to Howe. A visit from the queen to the new Arl of Denerim is only a matter of courtesy. And she demands answers."

He was started to lose his patience.

"He calls her every sort of name, 'traitor' being the kindest, and locks her in a guest room."

"What does this have to do with me, Erlina?"

"I think… her life is in danger. I heard Howe say she would be a greater ally dead than alive. Especially if her death could be blamed on Arl Eamon."

He wasn't seeing anything he should be caring about.

Clearly sensing Alistair's distress, Eamon stepped forward. "We may have no choice but to trust Anora. The queen is well-loved. If Loghain succeeded in pinning her death on me… I'm not sure that's a risk we can afford to take."

Sighing, Alistair turned, meeting the enraged eyes of the elf. Without even asking, he knew what Zevran was thinking. And what was even more surprising, he agreed. What did the queen mean to him? The only thing that mattered to him was finding Emma. But before he said anything, his eyes swept over to the bard who was practically bouncing on the spot. With her hands clasped together, she nodded to him, signaling back to Erlina.

"You're right," he suddenly agreed. "We have to help."

"What?" Zevran yelped.

Hoping the elf wouldn't ruin things, Alistair waved his hand down at him.

"I have some uniforms. Arl Howe hires so many new guards every day, a few more will not cause much stir. I will show you to the servants' entrance. We must slip in and out with my queen before anyone is the wiser."

And just like that, everything clicked into place. Here was their way into the estate without storming it. Even the elf calmed as everything fell into place.

"Can we leave now?" she asked.

With a quick nod, the party gathered their gear and chased after her. Perhaps Erlina thought they were rescuing the queen, but in his eyes, this was about rescuing Emma.

-Emma-

Large hands heaved her off the rack, easily supporting her tiny frame as though she were nothing more than the air around her. For a brief moment she was granted a reprieve from the pain, until it set back in.

Jorin stood off to the side, wiping the grime from his fingers with a silk white handkerchief.

"Once you have dealt with that, please send the Teryn down," he called after her.

The guards carrying her sounded their answer as they pulled her from the room. Lacking any strength, her limbs drooped, her toes scraping against the rough ground as they dragged her. She felt the skin on the top of her feet split, but she didn't even care. It was nothing compared to the level of pain ripping through her body with every movement.

The only consolation she possessed was her own success. Somehow she had managed to keep Bann Loren's name to herself. No matter how many screams fell from her lips, no matter what form of torture Jorin inflicted on her, she remained steady.

Her head dropped forward, so tired she couldn't even support it. She had absolutely no idea how much time had passed down there, time having slowed to a crawl with every wrench on the rollers.

A cell door creaked open before her. Managing to muster enough strength, she glanced up just seconds before being tossed up against the one next to it.

The two guards laughed abrasively, one reaching down and roughly clasping her chin and pulling her face to him.

"Jorin thinks a little of our type of fun might… open those lips of yours."

She'd been convinced she'd felt all the fear she could. And yet, with the heated intrigue lit within the guard's eyes, she found she had room for more.

He sidled up next to her, his fingers curving over her hip. She had long forgotten she was naked, but that realization came crashing home in this instant.

"Not going to lie," he rasped in her ear, his teeth piercing the bottom of her lobe. "I'm hoping you keep quiet."

The second guard chuckled under his breath. "Just remember to leave a little for me."

Whimpering, she shut her eyes to the scene unfolding before her. This couldn't be happening, not to her.

A low grunt sounded next to her a second before his body shifted, his weight vanishing from her. Her eyes flashed open to find a darkly tanned arm protruding from the cell door, wrapped tightly around the guard's neck.

Unwilling to waste the opportunity, Emma reached for his blade, the aching of her body gone with the fresh rush of adrenaline.

"Oi!" the guard bellowed.

Before he could reach her, Emma brought the blade down, the tip sliding through the guard's neck. Hot blood sprayed against her face, but the guard fell limp. She turned as quickly as she could, hoping to dispatch the other guard.

But a second later, his armored boot landed in her gut, driving her to her knees. She gasped for air, her arms wrapping around her middle.

"Stupid bitch," the remaining guard spat, his toe connecting with her jaw. She rocked backwards, tumbling into her cell, a fresh gush of blood running down her face. But she could care less. All that mattered was the sound of the cell door slamming shut behind her.

"Rot in there, canicula," he hissed before turning and marching off.

She weakly rolled onto her back, finally allowing her body to relax.

"Are you alright?" she heard a deep voice ask from next to her.

It took a few tries, but she finally managed to find enough air to speak. "Thank you."

"No need."

His accent, Orlesian, she figured. But she was too tired to ask. She had thought resurrection was painful, this was by far worse. She couldn't even find the energy to wipe the blood from her face.

"What do they want with you?"

Her eyes were drifting shut. Ignoring the constant ache, her body needed rest. She had no idea how long she had been down there, but she guessed at least an entire day had passed.

"A name," she mumbled drowsily, aware of the cold hard floor, but simply too exhausted to care.

"Might I suggest giving it to them?" he asked.

She pictured her lips moving, imagined the word 'no', but instead she drifted off, chased into oblivious by echoes of her own screams.


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

_She'd never much liked the dark. It was too easy to imagine things lurking within the night, hunting those too weak to protect themselves. It was then she'd been taught how to manipulate the shadows, pass through them like water, cloaking herself from all eyes. She'd learned the talents of obscurity, trained in the ways of weaponry. Her father had thought it would give her confidence but he'd never imagined how much confidence. She reveled in the training, strove to better herself with every passing day. Always moiling to improve._

_But at this moment, there was no confidence, no skill, no accepting of the twilight. She stood, draped in the dark, her heart thundering in her chest. And she knew, she was truly alone. Where once stood her friends and family, empty voids remained. But the largest was the abyss absolving her chest. _

_A flicker of light streamed in front of her, a voice humming from it. "My daughter."_

_Pain crumpled her face as she suddenly staggered towards it, her fingers stretching for the voice that had once belonged to her mother. _

"_Oh my darling girl, I love you."_

"_Mother," she sighed, stumbling into the light. _

_Warmth surrounded her like a halo. Emma tipped her face back and basked in it. For the first time she felt complete and utter love bathing her. _

"_You need to wake up," her mother's voice crooned to her._

_Emma shook, the idea of being forever separated from this essence too harrowing. _

"_Be brave, my little girl, be strong."_

_The light began to fade, drawing away from her, casting her down into the darkness once more. Chagrin bubbled under the surface until it finally released from her lips in a shattering scream._

Her eyes snapped open, to find herself, yet again, hidden in darkness. How she was beginning to despise it again. She moved to stretch, a common habit after waking, only to retract into a ball the moment her muscles cried in pain. Memories of recent events flooded over her, her lips still tasting deeply of blood.

"Are you well?" that voice from earlier came from next to her cell.

Tears rolled down her cheeks, but she managed to murmur a response.

"May I ask who you are?"

She weakly pulled herself up, panting with effort as she struggled over to the wall. "My name is Emma."

She didn't want to give her last name. She had no idea who he was. Dampening her lips, she posed the same question.

"I am Riordan."

She'd never heard of him before. But that was to be expected with his thick Orlesian accent.

"And what brought you here?" she asked.

His low laugh could be heard through the bars. "One moment of foolishness."

Oh yes, that sounded familiar.

"You are very brave," he commented after a few moments of silence.

"Some might say stupid," she whispered.

"Perhaps. But that doesn't make it any less so. Many would crack under the torment."

Her eyes closed to the memories of the pain. But it didn't matter. She would never betray Bann Loren. She never wanted another soul woken to the sounds of those they love being slaughtered.

"How are you feeling?"

With a huff under her breath that was supposed to resemble laughter, she murmured, "Taller."

At first she thought her little joke would go unnoticed, but then she heard his responding chuckle.

"I have not met many strong enough to withstand the rack."

"I wouldn't call it strong, stubborn maybe."

"Just another form of strength," he responded quietly.

Her head lolled against the wall, the scent of death insulting her nose. From the lump outside her cell, they hadn't moved the guard yet.

"You're tired," he commented.

Smiling weakly, she stared at the wall between them. "How did you know?"

"Common sense. You should rest. I'll wake you if anything interesting happens."

Snickering, she let her eyes shut. She wondered briefly what he classified as interesting before she managed to drift off again.

-oOo-

-Alistair-

"Alistair wait," Zevran called just as the templar reached for the last door in front of them. "This feels wrong."

Alistair turned with narrowed eyes. "What does?"

"I know what you mean," Gilmore commented.

His gaze bounced between the two of them. They shared a look, one Alistair couldn't interpret.

"Someone had better start talking."

"Think about it," Gilmore continued. "We come here on behalf of the queen, thinking she's in danger. And then when we arrive, surprise, there's now a spell on her door that we have to enter the dungeons to remove. Doesn't this seem a little off to you?"

Alistair nodded. He'd been wondering about them himself. But he had to follow through. The moment Anora suggested the mage would be in the dungeons, he just _knew_ that was where he'd find Emma. Whether he found her alive, that was a different matter altogether. But he could _feel_ her; something was calling to him down there.

He threw open the door and led them down. He had to admit the first thing he saw was a pool of blood darkening with age.

"What?" he heard a guard demand. "Who goes there?"

Before any of his party could react, a well toned arm shot out from behind the door, snapping the guard back against the bars. Alistair took a step back, his shoulders flush with Wynne.

A loud crunch echoed through the dungeon a second before the body collapsed in a heap on top a second deceased body.

Fingers fished through the guard's belongings until a key flashed in the torchlight.

Alistair reached for his blade, unsure if it was needed or not, but prepared nonetheless. The moment the door swung open, those same bare arms shot forward and gripped the guard, wrenching him into the cell. They all heard the distinct sounds of armor being unfastened before fastened again. Finally, a man exited the cell, clothed in the armor of the guard.

"I thank you for creating such a distraction, stranger. I have been waiting days for the opportunity. Do you think you could – Alistair, is that you?"

At the sound of his name, he straightened and looked a little closer at the man. "Who…? Wait. I do know you. You were at my Joining." He'd been standing at the back, watching intently as Alistair lifted the chalice to his lips, drinking deeply of the tainted poison. "He's one of us," he told Gilmore. "A Warden from Orlais. Jader, I think. Or was it Montsimmard? I'm afraid I don't remember your name."

"I'm Riordan, senior Warden of Jader, but born and bred in Highever, and glad to be home."

"What are you doing here?" Alistair asked. This would have to be one of the last places he'd expect to find a Warden of Orlais.

"Howe captured me. With an offer of hospitality and a poisoned chalice. I was fool enough to think Loghain didn't yet know who I was."

"Common story," Alistair grumbled. They needed to rid Ferelden of these two men and as soon as possible.

"Indeed. If you would give me but a moment," he said as he turned and headed to the next cell, inserting the key.

Curious, Alistair followed after him, gasping the moment the cell came into view.

"Ah," Riordan sighed. "I'd rather been hoping it hadn't been as bad as I'd first thought."

There, in the pits of the cell, huddled Emma.

"Poor child is exhausted," Riordan informed him. "The scuffle didn't even wake her."

Relief poured through him. He had to admit his first thought, seeing her like this, covered in dirt, and… other things, was that he in fact was too late. He couldn't believe the state of her, blood encrusted on her face, her nose crooked and battered. Dark bruises blackened the skin beneath her eyes.

Alistair rushed past Riordan and dropped down next to her, his fingers hovering above her, afraid to touch her.

"What have they done to her?"

"Torture, I believe is the best way to put it."

"But… why?" Zevran questioned behind him.

Alistair threw a glance over his shoulder, finding the elf standing and staring upon her in horror. For an assassin, he seemed awfully shocked by this.

"Do you know her?" Riordan asked quietly.

No one answered.

Finally, Alistair braved touching her, gently cupping her jaw and turning her face towards him. He couldn't help but notice the blossoming bruises just beneath his fingers.

When her lids fluttered open, he grinned down at her, all the emotion he felt for her shining through his eyes. Regardless of how she looked, he was simply happy she was alive. Of course that left the question as to why.

"Alistair?" she murmured.

"I'm here, love. We all are."

His fingers slipped away from her skin as he moved back. Quickly, he removed his chest piece and stripped off his shirt. Wearing naught but armor would chafe, but he knew his shirt would be long enough to cover Emma. After reattaching his chest piece, he dropped back down to her level and helped slide it over her torso. He tried his hardest to ignore the tiny whimpers of pain coming from her every move she made.

"Now, young lady," the older mage playfully scolded as she pushed Alistair back. "We need to stop meeting like this."

Even in her state, she found the energy to smile. "Yes ma'am."

"Now, step back boys and let me get to work. You can finish your conversation out there."

No one dared argue with the mage.

As they shuffled backwards, he felt the pressure of magic begin building up within him.

"Riordan, what are you doing here?" Alistair ventured to ask as he waited impatiently.

"For the most part, attempting to hold my tongue. I was sent when we received no word from King Cailan as to the outcome at Ostagar. The king had invited all the Wardens of Orlais and their support troops to join him, then… nothing."

Could they be so lucky? Were the Orlesian Wardens already within Ferelden? "How large a force did you bring with you?"

"We had two hundred Wardens and two dozen divisions of cavalry. The first we heard of Loghain's edict was when everyone was turned back at the border. That was when the rumor reached us that Wardens were being blamed for the massacre. We finally decided it was safest to send someone alone, to learn how best to fight the Blight and this regime simultaneously. As a native Ferelden, I volunteered to make the crossing."

Nodding, Alistair shot a quick glance back into the cell to find Emma standing with Wynne supporting her as she searched for more wounds.

Apparently finding nothing else left to heal, the two women exited the cell. Alistair couldn't help but chuckle at the sight of her cleaned up, blood free, and in his shirt. She was so tiny it touched it her knees.

"Riordan?" she questioned softly, loping her arm through Alistair's, staring up at the Orlesian Warden.

"In the flesh, Miss Emma."

"Just Emma," she smiled.

"And I take it you know our fair Alistair?" he asked.

She turned her attention back to him with a look that sent Alistair's heart sputtering.

"Well, as much as I'd love to continue hanging around this dungeon, perhaps we should push forward?" Zevran questioned.

"Where's Howe?" Emma suddenly demanded.

For a moment, Alistair debated sending her with Riordan to safety within Eamon's estate. But from the burning look set to her eyes, he knew she'd never go.

When no one answered, she stepped forward, looking to each and every one of them. "This is the only chance I will get to inflict vengeance on him. And believe me, he deserves it."

"No one is arguing that," Alistair stated.

"Then tell me where he is."

With a deep sigh, Riordan nodded. "He came by earlier. He went down into the lower dungeons. He may still be there."

Leading the way, she headed for the door. "Let's go."

"Uh, Emma," Alistair called.

She turned, a single brow curving high on her brow.

"Don't you think some weapons might help?"

"Don't worry, I know exactly where to find some."

He followed after her, the entire group did, but none spoke. When they reached a new door, Emma turned and held a finger to her lips. But before she opened it, she crept back over to Alistair and reached for him. She rose on her tiptoes and brushed a sparing kiss against his lips. As she backed away, she drew his sword from its sheath.

"Emma?" he questioned, his fingers reaching for her.

But she remained just out of his range.

"This one is mine."

She pushed open the door and stalked inside. Alistair's eyes were able to track her for a few seconds before she vanished into the shadows. Having seen this before, he wasn't shocked, but Wynne and Riordan both hissed anxiously.

As quietly as he could, Alistair pushed into the room either, his breath sucked from his lungs the moment he caught site of the decaying bodies hanging from the rafters. All around them were devices of torture, most slicked in blood.

What kind of a sick man kept a room such as this in his estate? Dungeons were one thing, but torture devices? He shuddered as he pressed forwards.

"Now what have we here?" a deep Antivan voice came from the corner of the room. "Intruders? Well, now, more fun for me when Howe finds you."

From the shadows, Alistair caught movement. The Antivan had just turned, a sly look darkening his features. He seemed about to shout to someone just as Alistair's blade shot through his upper back, angling downwards. The Antivan's eyes popped with surprise, his hands touching his chest as rivulets of blood cascaded down his chest.

Behind him, Emma stepped out of a shadow, her sapphire eyes flashing with rage.

"Never again will you touch another," she hissed in his ear.

The light dimmed from his eyes as he dropped to the ground.

With a sneer, she stepped over his body and headed towards a table where she clutched two blades. Alistair knew them immediately as hers.

Just as quickly, she handed his back over to him before strapping hers back on, the belt cinching his shirt around her waist.

Casting one last look over at the Antivan, he stepped over to Emma, offering her assistance with the many buckles.

"Remind me never to upset you," he teased, pulling the final strap through.

Chuckling, she adjusted the shirt. "Come on, let's find Howe, shall we? And then you can take me home."

Home, he liked the sound of that.


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter 25

-Emma-

They tore through each and every room they could find, slaughtering every supporter of Howe. She could see the decision weighing heavily on Alistair, but these were the men that had stormed her estate, slaughtering everyone in their way. Eamon would have agreed with her. They could not put Alistair on the throne only to leave the men who supported Howe alive. All those who supported Loghain deserved death. Of course, she had a personal vendetta weaved into this, but her logic was sound. The crown could afford no leniency. Civil unrest would not be tolerated.

She was so focused on this ideal that she stumbled blindly into the next room.

"No!" she heard someone shout just seconds before nimble hands shoved her to the ground, the air whistling just as a blade sliced above her head.

Armored boots leapt over her in time for his shield to deflect the blade as it rounded down on her once more.

Three men stood before her, each balancing on their toes as they anticipated the next attack.

She shoved Zevran off her and leapt back to her feet, her fingers gripping the leather hilt of her blades. This was her moment, she realized, as she stared into the grayed face of Teryn Howe.

"Foolish boy," Howe snapped at Alistair. "Had you let me kill her, I might have persuaded Loghain to let you live."

"Over my dead body," Alistair growled.

"Well, that was the plan."

Emma pushed past her wall of men and stared Howe dead in the eyes. "I know your game. No more shadows, no lies. Just you and me."

"You wish to fight me?" he mocked. "You, this tiny little girl, against a seasoned warrior?"

She rocked back on her heels, her blades held steady at her side. "Afraid?"

"Of you?" he laughed. "Never. Let there be no more words between us," he hissed before lunging forwards.

She dove backwards, avoiding his thrust. All around her, a battle erupted. For a brief moment, her eyes sought out Alistair, contesting with a mage across the room. Next was Zevran, outmaneuvering two commanders. She heard Gilmore parrying behind her and watched in admiration Riordan's footwork.

From the corner of her eye, she caught a flash of silver. Gaze narrowing in on Howe, she threw herself across the floor in time to avoid his strike.

"You will regret the day you were born girl," he groused.

Emma held her tongue as she dove behind him, striking out with her dagger. The blade narrowly missed as he spun and deflected the tip with his own.

"Is that the best you can do?" he needled.

Snarling, Emma let go of all restraint. The two danced circles around one another, the sound of their blades ricocheting off one another echoing through the tiny room.

Emma dropped to a knee and sliced out, grimacing when she only met air. She tucked and rolled around him. It was difficult for her to find a weakness to strike, ridden in armor as he was. He on the other hand, only had to meet flesh once.

Howe lunged again, his blade narrowly missing Emma's shoulder. Dropping it, she weaved to the side, taking advantage of his misbalance and driving her dagger home in his thigh.

Releasing a howl of pain, he staggered away from her, his weight giving out under the injury. Emma clutched the family blade tighter and pressed forwards. With a tight spin, she swept down and buried the family blade into his side.

She watched in satisfaction as he dropped to the unkempt ground, his blood pooling as she tore the sword out. Never before had she felt such satisfaction at witnessing another's pain. But seeing his crimson blood spreading across the floor, she felt rejuvenated.

"Maker spit on you!" he groaned, clutching at his side.

The leather groaned beneath her grip as she raised the blade, hovering it above his head like a pendulum.

Wheezing, he spat out a mouthful of blood, drops splattering against the front of his armor. "I… deserved-"

"Nothing," she snarled a heartbeat before slamming the blade down, its edges rupturing his throat, his scalding blood showering her face.

Releasing the hilt, she staggered back, staring down at the rewarding sight before her. She felt as though an entire lifetime had passed since the death of her parents. She had come so far, accomplished a fair bit with so much more to come. She had fallen in love with a man she had thought to be nothing, only to find he was the rightful sovereign of Ferelden. And now, at this exact moment, she had _finally_ avenged her parents, and was now the Teryna of Highever.

Her eyes flashed over the body before her, her lips curling back in contentment. Here before her lay the dismembered corpse of _Arl_ Howe, pinned to the ground by the blade of a Cousland. Perhaps, sometimes the Maker did answer prayers.

-Alistair-

"Emma," he whispered, slowly approaching her from behind. The other four hung back, cleaning their blades. "Emma, we should carry on. The queen…"

She nodded, turning to him, her fingers trembling at her lips. Tears shined in her eyes, slipping down her cheeks, but he knew it was from happiness.

"We can't lose focus now," he told her, taking her quivering hands into his own. "We still have to get safely out of the castle."

"Right," she murmured. Her fingers slipped from his as she turned and clutched the hilt, wrenching it free from his mangled body.

"Safe to say my shirt is ruined though," he heckled, fingers the blood soaked hem.

She glanced down at the crimson spotted white fabric and grinned. "Sorry."

Ignoring the splattered and soaked edges, he had to admit seeing her wrapped tightly in his own clothing brought out one of the most possessive feelings he'd ever felt.

"Let's just get this finished. I'm sure you'd like to leave this place."

The elf leaned forward, his blond head popping between them. "As would we all."

Alistair took point and led them all from the room. The silence of so many dead was a little eerie. Thankfully, they were leaving now. With the mage dead, Alistair was almost positive Anora's door would open. If not, that was simply her to bad. He had gotten what he came for.

He pushed open the door leading to the main levels, his eyes narrowing. Before coming down, there'd been guards crawling over every corner of the estate. Now as they passed from room to room, it was just as silent as the tomb below. From the hushed movements and tense glances, he knew they'd all noticed as well.

"My lady!" Erlina hissed through the door. "The Wardens are back."

"Thank the Maker," Anora announced.

Alistair approached the door, the void in his head confirming the spell was gone. "You can come out now."

"Alistair," he heard Emma murmur to him.

Turning, he found her deftly leaning around the corner. For a moment, he stared at her in shock and awe, half cloaked in shadows, the other half bathed in light. He'd never seen something so creepy in his life. Swallowing, he approached her.

"You know how all the rooms are empty?" she whispered.

He murmured a soft acknowledgement.

"That's because they are _all_ out in the foyer."

"All?" he repeated.

She nodded. "It looks like Ser Cauthrien is leading them. We're outmanned, severely."

Knowing Anora would never aid in the fight, he said. "There are six of us, do you think we can take them?"

Apparently of the same mind as Alistair, Emma slipped out of the shadows, eyeing up the entire group. Finally, her eyes drifted to Anora.

"My apologies your majesty, but I'm going to need you to strip."

The tall woman's eyes popped. "I beg your pardon?"

"Your armor," Emma said, throwing her arms out wide. "If we're about to fight the entire castle to help _you_ escape, I'd like to do so in something more than an undershirt."

If the queen hadn't appeared so upset, Alistair might have laughed at the idea. She looked utterly ridiculous in the armor anyways.

Murmuring under her breath the queen slowly began to unclasp her gear.

"Again, I'm sorry, but if you could maybe move just a little faster?" Emma questioned softly, reaching for the pieces that Anora removed.

"Who _are_ you," Anora posed, staring at her incredulously.

"My apologies. My name is Emma Cousland, Teryna of Highever."

He could see the absolutely bliss radiating from her with that introduction.

"Cousland," the queen whispered before handing over the remaining pieces. "I thought…"

Alistair swept over to her and helped her strap in as quickly as possible, ignoring the glare Emma fed her.

"Not great, but better," she whispered.

"It's the same armor they have," he told her reassuringly. "Just be quicker than them and you'll be fine."

"Always am. I've got my boys," she winked, flashing her blades at him. "They haven't let me down yet."

He didn't want to remind her of the last two serious battles, she'd been injured. Now was not the time to incite doubt.

"Perhaps the queen should wait here," Wynne suggested.

The rest of the group nodded.

Finally, they all gathered their wits and looked to Alistair. With a quick glance to Emma, he nodded and led them out. He didn't want to think of any negative consequences. He'd gotten them all this far, he'd get them home. Just like Emma had said.

"Wardens, and Emma Cousland, in the name of the reagent I am placing you under arrest for the murder of Rendon Howe and his men in arms. Surrender and you will be shown mercy."

"We are here to free Anora," Alistair stated in a clear voice. "She was being held captive."

"Don't be ridiculous," Cauthrien scoffed, "the queen isn't being held prisoner here, or anywhere else. Her father would never stand for such a thing."

They'd agreed leaving her in the room had been the best, but Alistair turned then and called her out. "She's right here. Tell her, Anora."

"Ser Cauthrien," Anora exclaimed, stalking out of the room with a noble air about her. "Praise the Maker you're here. This brigand tried to kidnap me," she accused, pointing at Emma.

"You double crossing bitch!" Emma suddenly shouted. "After everything Alistair did for you!"

Alistair merely groaned and shook his head. How foolish they'd been.

"Unbelievable," Cauthrien mumbled. "Bring them down! Loghain wants them all dead or alive!"

War cries from every direction sounded as men suddenly rushed them.

Alistair swung his shield around and drew his blade, rocking into combat within a second's notice.

Knowing he needed to be rid of as many men as possible, he sought out as many fatal areas as possible. Their armor was weakest below the best and left the neck exposed. So he struck there as often as he could. Trained warriors they may be, but they weren't Wardens.

One by one they fell, their bodies beginning to pile up around them. But every time he struck one down, two more seemed to appear from nowhere.

Magic swelled over his head and he managed to dive out of the way just in time for the trap to go off. All around them, Loghain's and Howe's men froze in place, a bright light encasing them.

"Warden," he heard Cauthrien's voice behind him. He turned. She was alone, her blade held bravely within her hands. The other five approached from behind, Wynne's glyph still holding the other men in place.

"Surrender," Alistair said to her.

She turned, taking in her surroundings. Alistair hoped she would, she was a loyal subject, unfortunately to the wrong men.

But he hadn't realized how loyal. Even seeing how badly outnumbered she'd become, she lunged. Her blade struck against his armored arm, the vibrations shaking him. Alistair scrambled backwards in time to avoid another crushing blow that skirted right past his neck. His companion's voices rose in anger as they chased after them.

"Cauthrien, don't be stupid!" Alistair bellowed, backing away, parrying her thrusts.

She remained vigilant, sweeping out her leg and knocking him over. She raised her blade above her, preparing for the final strike.

With an incensed shout, Emma dove towards him, her blades flashing in the light. Her arm snapped forward. He couldn't believe her aim. Cauthrien halted midstride, her blade clanging to the floor before she fell, the hilt of the dagger protruding from her eye.

Alistair clamored to his feet, his chest heaving from shock. Why hadn't she stopped? She'd been outnumbered six to one and yet she'd pressed forwards. If Emma hadn't taken action, his head would have forever been impaled.

"To arms," Wynne shouted again just as her glyph faded.

But staring down at the body of their commander, they seemed to lose a little of their drive to fight. One by one, the men began to scatter until all that remained were the six with Cauthrien's body.

"Why am I not surprised that Anora ran off?" Emma demanded as she scouted the damage.

"Just forget her," Alistair suggested. "Come on, I believe you mentioned something about taking you home?"

A tiny smile crept across her lips as she glanced up to him, her blue eyes radiating excitement.

"May we come?" Zevran teased, tossing his arm over Emma's shoulder and yanking her in for a loose hug.

Alistair shoved him off, able to laugh with him now that the hardest parts were over. Well, except for the impending Blight. Couldn't forget that now, might hurt the Archdemon's feelings.

He leaned down to brush a gentle kiss against the top of Emma's head.

"Come on. Let's get you home… and a bath," he teased.

"You first," she rebutted, playfully holding her nose as he led her out.


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter 26

-Emma-

"Thank you Sina," Emma murmured as she leaned her head back, basking in the fresh hot water mixing into the marble tub. Alistair had been right, a bath really was the best treatment. The moment she slipped within the heated water, muscles she hadn't realized she had began to unwind, the knots vanishing within minutes. She had a feeling Alistair assigned Sina to her, as her chambermaid. It appeared not to matter what she said, the woman simply wouldn't leave. She anticipated Emma's needs before she could even express them. Again, another ploy of Alistair's she was sure. While he was off investigating the alienage, she was to remain within the estate. She had reminded him that with Howe's death, the danger was gone. But men would be men. He merely shook his head and informed her that he was not willing to return and find her gone once more. And with that came the chambermaid, who she was sure had been thoroughly persuaded to remain by her side.

With a low moan, the Teryna slipped under the water, hoping to rid her mind of all dark thoughts now that her path was finished. Though the Landsmeet still lay before her, and of course the Blight, she looked upon them with a new fervor. Finally, the nightmare was at an end.

A soft knock roused her from her thoughts. The water rippled as she rose, wiping the drops from her eyes.

"My Lady," Sina whispered before glancing to the door.

Nodding, the girl opened the door, just a sliver, and spoke in hushed tones. Finally, Sina closed the door with a soft click before turning back to Emma.

"You've been requested by the Queen."

Disappointment filled her. The very last thing she wanted to do was leave. Finally with a nod, she stood, reaching for linens Sina had brought in only moments ago. As she began drying herself off, the chambermaid brought out what Emma could only classify as a dress.

As she held it up, Emma couldn't help but laugh. "I'm not wearing that."

Brow furrowed, Sina pulled it back to gaze at it herself. "There is something wrong?"

Emma couldn't remember the last time she'd ever worn a dress. Her mother had given up years ago when Emma began simply strapping her armor on overtop.

"You are a Teryna, my Lady, you must dress as one, no?"

Emma hid her laugh behind her hands and shook her head. "No. There must be something else."

"My apologies, but no. I could send some servants out for you, if you wish."

"But in the meantime…" she trailed off.

"Dresses are all we have. This is one of Lady Isolde's personal collection."

Maker, but it was ugly. A common design seen fashioned by the nobles, it wasn't surprising, but Emma had always hated the sickly blue and green colors.

"Perhaps one of a different color?" the chambermaid sighed. Emma could only imagine the thoughts spindling through her head. Here was another noble, too good to wear what was provided, but Maker, she loathed that dress.

Without waiting for an answer, Sina skirted out of the room, the dress draped haphazardly over her forearm. Emma turned to the mirror and dragged her fingers through her tangled obsidian hair, draping it behind her shoulders until it hung low on her back.

The door creaked softly open once more and Sina leaned in, holding up a different dress. Emma's eyes widened in the mirror. Now, _that_ was a dress.

"Very nice, Sina," she complimented, turning to grasp it. Dark, but elegant. It suited the new Teryna well. Her fingers grazed the supple silks, holding it up for a full view. The black bodice was tight and laced with leather. A deep red sash rested low on the hips, the only splash of color throughout the entire piece. The neckline sat rather low, lower than her mother would have ever worn, and yet it only added to the lines of the dress.

Emma turned and dropped the linens before stepping into the dress and turning, allowing Sina to cinch it up. She found herself thankful she was used to tight armor as this dress was worse. With every tug, Emma felt her lungs contracting painfully.

When Sina finally moved back, Emma turned to face her, noting the chambermaid's wide eyes and nod.

"Lady Isolde always found this piece too dark for her liking, but it suits you quite well."

"Thank you," Emma nodded.

Sina took to her hair next, curling and wrapping the long tresses into delicate braids.

"There," Sina whispered as she backed away, "now you look like a Teryna."

"Thank you," Emma smiled. "I suppose I should be off now. Queen's to see."

The chambermaid bowed gently before throwing open the door, waiting for Emma to walk out before following.

Emma couldn't imagine what Anora wished to speak to her about. After that abhorrent scene with Cauthrien, she'd figured the queen would avoid them. Emma knew that was her desire, in the very least. There was something unsettling about the queen. She and Emma's mother had been… acquaintances at the least, but Emma had never been a friend.

Rapping gently against the door, she waited for a response. The door opening was enough.

"Ah, Emma," Anora smiled warmly, arms wide as she approached her. "I am so glad that you've come to see me."

For a moment, Emma faltered, not entirely understanding what was happening. The Queen's smiling face waivered as she took in Emma's hesitance.

Reverting to her mother's lessons, she smiled sweetly. "Of course, Majesty."

"First, let me say that I knew your family. Eleanor in particular was dear to me, and what Howe did… was unforgivable. How fitting he died at your hands."

"Thank you," Emma commented with a nod.

"But onto business. I will be blunt. I can see that your voice will be a strong one in days to come, with the Terynir now falling to you. It is to you that Eamon listens, and with good reason. My father must be stopped, but once that is done, Ferelden will need a ruler. I would welcome your support for my throne."

A frown broke through Emma's façade. She couldn't believe the woman had actually just asked for her assistance in helping her secure the throne. Who was she to rule? She was queen by marriage only and that marriage, obviously, no longer existed. While the daughter of Teryn Loghain, that no longer bode well for her. There was no reason in Emma's eyes whatsoever that this woman should be granted the throne. She was _not_ a Theirin. And if they were to sway from the bloodline, there were plenty of others much more suited to lead than her.

"And exactly why should I support _you_?" Emma asked as softly as possible.

The Queen's eyes narrowed slightly on her. "For years I have ruled this kingdom as Cailan's queen. As much as they loved Cailan, all of the Bannorn knew this to be so. Cailan was a good man. But what is needed now is not another good man but a good ruler. I sent Erlina here not solely because I thought I needed help, but because I saw an opportunity. For us both."

"For us both?" Emma repeated, dumbfounded.

"Yes. I need your support, Emma. And through me, I can offer your Wardens the support they need."

Unable to hold back any longer, Emma demanded the question that was burning on the tip of her tongue. "You believe you are a better candidate than Alistair? A true Theirin?"

"Do you disagree? You are a Cousland, what do you think of Alistair's potential to rule?"

"If you think appealing to me as a Cousland will assist your pleas, you're mistaken. I feel Alistair would make a great leader. He has already accumulated an army worthy of a King to fight the archdemon."

"Alistair seems like a kind, well-meaning man, and biddable enough. These are admirable qualities, if not kingly ones," she argued. "He also seems to be a fine Grey Warden – which is exactly why he should remain one, and serve the kingdom by defeating the darkspawn."

Emma had to admit that was a low political blow. She didn't know much of Warden Lore but she imagined Anora was right about that. Were Alistair to be placed on the throne, he would no longer be a Warden. But it wasn't enough.

"You seem to know a lot about Alistair for someone who only met him the day before yesterday," Emma suggested.

"Cailan knew of Alistair. It was Arl Eamon that kept Alistair out of the courts, as Maric had desired. Oh, there are some who would follow Alistair out of respect for his Theirin blood. The others would see this as Eamon grabbing for power. Who else do you think Alistair would turn to for help? Eventually the nobility would return to the old days of constant warring with each other."

Truthfully, Emma had imagined herself helping him, but with Anora's words realized that yes, the two of them would together turn to Eamon. He was the most season political force they knew. Unlike Anora, however, Emma did not see this as an issue.

"Surely you can see Alistair's weakness would destroy everything Maric built."

Emma stared into the calculating face of the Queen, imagining just how her parents would respond. They had always been true, firm believers of bloodlines. Royal enthusiasts, they had once been called. If her father hadn't believed in true royalty, he would have taken the throne when last offered. And so Anora's pleas once more fell on deaf ears.

"You just want the throne for yourself," Emma accused.

"I simply believe that I am what this country needs. I will fight for what I believe. Would Alistair do the same?"

"I believe he has already shown that on more than one occasion," Emma snapped, growing tired of this woman's constant barrage of scripted insults.

"Am I to understand then that you will not support me?"

Laughing under her breath, Emma turned. "Why should I support you, Anora?" she deliberately dropped her title. "You fed us to the dogs in the Arl's estate. One word of _support_ from you could have stopped the bloodshed."

Emma paused at the door and glanced back, utterly aware of the enraged knot twisting her face. "I see once again, another woman has fallen to the Theirin charm."

"Think what you like," Emma responded. "I will not support your claim for the throne and that is my final word on the matter."

"So be it," she heard the queen mumble as she left the room.

The sight of a very handsome Grey Warden leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest stopped her. He was staring down the hall, towards Eamon's room. "I heard your voice," he claimed, "and decided to wait for you."

"And eavesdrop while you're at it," she teased.

With a low chuckle, he turned, his gaze shifting to her. She had forgotten the dress and intricate hair design, but the moment his jaw fell slack and his eyes bulged, she remembered.

"Oh," she murmured, spinning to give him a full view, "Do you like it?"

He mumbled an incoherent response before shoving away from the wall and stumbling closer to her.

"Maker," he breathed the moment he pulled her flush against him.

She chuckled against him. "I'd take that as a yes."

"You look dangerous. How I hate that we have to speak with Eamon now."

"What would you rather be doing?" she asked with an arched brow.

Pinning her against the wall, he lowered down, his lips showing her exactly what he'd rather be doing. A flurry of pleasure spread through her stomach. Arching into him, she threw her arms around his neck, her fingers curling into his hair.

"I missed you," she whispered as he drew back. "You've been gone for a while."

"Mmm," he nuzzled her neck. "I'm never leaving again."

She couldn't help but laugh.

"Come on," he grumbled. "Let's go get this business dealt with so I can show you _exactly_ what I'd rather be doing."

Alistair took her hand then and led her towards the room Eamon was awaiting them in.

"Ah, Alistair, Emma, there you are. Alistair said they had news of the Elven alienage but he wished to wait for you before even telling me."

Her lips curved into a crooked smile. She could see how that rankled the dear Arl.

"Gilmore and I managed to secure papers proving Loghain was selling elves to the Tevinter's to fund his war."

Emma and Eamon both fell silent. She knew the situation; knew that Loghain had quit the field. Andraste's sword, he'd even supported Howe and everything he'd done. But to hear that he had sold elves into slavery, that was just… she stared at Alistair in horror. How had the man her father had told her legends of turned into this? This man had driven out the occupying forces of the Orlesian Empire and had been one of the closest friends of King Maric.

"While it pains me to hear this, I will admit it will help us in the Landsmeet," Eamon commented. "Has everything been set straight in the alienage?"

Alistair nodded. "The keeper was freed and returned to his people. The alienage is in rough condition," he continued. "Blood magic destroyed the orphanage. Honestly, I think that's an area we're going to have to work on."

Eamon nodded. "The Landsmeet is first thing in the morning. Are you ready for this Alistair?"

"Yes," he stated. "It's time the Blight become our only concern, so on and so on." The Arl's lips parted to respond, but Alistair clutched Emma's hand and slowly began leading her towards the door. "Tomorrow morning."

"Uh, Alistair," Eamon called. "Please don't be late."

Emma was snickering as they rounded the corner, watching as Alistair waved the Arl away. "The Teryna and I have some business waiting for us!" he called back.

The two were practically jogging by the time they reached his room. Alistair threw open the door and wrenched her in, pressing her up against the door the moment he slammed it shut behind them.

"Alistair," she laughed, interrupted by his mouth enclosing over hers.

A low huff in the corner startled them. Emma jumped and turned finding Spartacus resting on the floor, his bemused eyes watching them.

"Out," Alistair motioned to the door, cracking it open briefly, narrowly missing the mabari's stub of a tail as he cantered out.

"Two days without you was brutal," he murmured, his fingers brushing her hair away from her neck. "And then to return, to find this… But before anything else happens, I have something for you."

Her eyes lit up, "A present?"

He reached into his pocket and lifted out a small box. He pulled something out of it and reached for her hand. Something cold slid over her skin. He drew away, his fingers grazing against her skin and she glanced down, the added weight to her wrist drawing her attention.

"Oh Alistair, it's beautiful," she confessed. No one had ever bought her jewelry before and never something so appealing to her. It was as though he knew her entirely. There was nothing ostentatious about the bracelet, just a simple garnet shining from the center. "Thank you so much."

"I had to give it to you tonight when I saw you in this dress. They match."

"So they do," she snickered, rising up on her tiptoes to brush her lips against his.

"Now, onto messier business," he teased, his brow waggling with intrigue just before he reached for her.


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N: This chapter has been edited to reflect Gilmore chosen as the General. It was how the story had been intended all alone, but for some reason my fingers did some walking and changed that, bad fingers!**

**I know this chapter is fairly long but I wanted to finish the Landsmeet. Hopefully everyone enjoys it, I tried to add my own little flare to it but that's a little hard when the dialogue is completely laid out already haha. So read, enjoy, let me know what you think!**

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><p>Chapter 27<p>

-Alistair-

A sudden knock on the door shocked them both awake. Alistair was vaguely aware of Emma bolting up in the bed, a soft sigh of shock easing past her lips.

"Emma, Alistair," a withered voice seeped in. "Eamon wants to ensure you're both awake. The Landsmeet will begin soon."

Alistair grumbled under his breath, wrenching a pillow up over his head. "I'm awake now."

The bed shifted as Emma threw herself back down. What he would give to be able to sleep a little longer. The two had been up late, talking into the night, after other… physical excursions, talking about their futures.

"Can we call in sick?" he mumbled.

She mumbled something into the pillows, something he couldn't understand. He reached over and pulled back the covers.

"What did you say?"

"I said if you want to hunt down Loghain and ask, I'm game."

"I think that'd defeat the purpose, my dear."

She slipped lower under the covers, snuggling deeply into the swell of his chest. "Then I suppose we'll just have to get up."

His body shook with laughter. "Yes, and this is really convincing me."

"Would a crown convince you to get up?" she murmured, her little rear wriggling in areas that were certainly getting a rise out of him.

"Maybe if it was a really big one," he said, his fingers instinctively wandering south.

"I'm sure we can have the dwarves build you a bigger one."

"Oh, I like that idea," he commented, nuzzling the back of the neck. "Harrowmont does owe me a favor."

"And yet you're still lying in bed."

"I can't help but notice you are as well."

"Need I remind you that I'm not taking over a country today?"

For a brief moment, his thoughts wandered to the ring hidden within his gear. He'd been debating the best time to present it. Last night, he'd almost. But at the last moment, the sting of rejection forced him to swallow his words. So he'd given her the bracelet instead. It was utterly ridiculous to think that she didn't love him, but there was always doubt when asking a girl to marry you.

"It isn't absolute that I am either," he reminded her. "We won't know until the vote."

Sighing, Emma scooted to the edge of the bed and sat up, reaching for her clothing, scattered to the four winds. He'd been in such a rush to get her out of that damned dress last night. It was definitely a style he was going to keep in mind for any future outfits purchased for her. He'd practically swallowed his tongue on first sight. With every step, she flashed a little skin, nothing scandalous, but enough for his mind to wander.

There was another knock on the door.

"We're up already," Alistair bellowed. If it was the mage again they were about to have words.

"My Lady?" a soft voice came.

"Oh Sina," Emma said. "Come in."

The door cracked open an inch, light creeping into the room. With a tiny squeak, Alistair wrenched the covers up over him just in time for the small wisp of a woman to enter the room, new garments dangling from her arm.

"We had the servants fetch you some new garments, something more akin to what you desired last night," the chambermaid commented.

She held up the outfit chosen, beaming the moment Emma nodded.

"That's perfect Sina, thank you."

"We've also brought a selection of the Arl's blades up for you as well. He says to make use of any that you'd like," Sina informed her just as she danced out the door and brought in a tray of weapons.

Emma thanked her again before asking her to leave everything for a few moments while she dressed.

She placed it down on the foot of the bed before curtseying to both and leaving. A second later, Emma rose and reached for the outfit. It was certainly different from the dress and Alistair decided for that reason alone he didn't like it. But it was also more appropriate for the gathering they were attending today. He could only imagine the look on Teryn Loghain's face if Emma entered in something like that. Part of him was tempted, just to throw the man for a loop. It was enough to bring a smile to his lips.

By the time he finally finished with that thought, Emma was already dressed. The tight black pants framed her bottom nicely, and he was appreciating the view until she turned, catching him the moment his eyes swept up to her face.

With flushed cheeks, she coerced him out of the bed. Instead he watched, fascinated, as she hovered over the trays, her fingers lovingly caressing the steel. She settled on two medium sized daggers, one with a twist in the blade, the other double edged. She drew them both, holding them up to the light, nodding in approval. A moment later they vanished, concealed somewhere beneath her top.

Alistair searched for any broken lines, but everything was seamless. No one would know she was armed. Even having just watched her, he doubted there were two daggers hidden somewhere beneath the fur covered leather vest.

"You're still in bed," she teased.

Truthfully, he grown a little enraptured, there was something entirely intimate about watching someone dress.

"I'd hurry, Sina will be back soon to help me with my hair."

"Help you with your hair?" he repeated.

"A talent I never acquired," she joked.

Sighing, he kicked back the covers and reached for his own gear. "They took my armor last night to be polished. I should probably fetch it." He teetered on one foot, struggling with a pair of pants that simply refused to go on before swooping down and brushing a chaste kiss over her lips. "I'll see you in a bit?"

She nodded and waved him off, still preoccupied with the blades laid out before her.

-oOo-

The large wooden doors standing before them were quite intimidating. Hands slick with sweat, she stared ahead. Today was the first day she would be acknowledged as a noble. So much was expected from her, the fear of failing was almost too much to bear. Her father, Maker bless him, had been one of the most honorable men in Ferelden. Never a moment's hesitation in loyalty, never a question in his mind. He was a true Ferelden, devout until his last breath. And now, as Alistair reached for the metal handle, she felt the weight of an entire nation pressing down on her shoulders. This was the moment she would take back everything that was rightfully Cousland. This was the room where Loghain would be charged with his crimes. This was the room where she'd guarantee a new King was soon to take the throne.

Her father had spoken a great deal of these chambers. She'd always brushed it off, her attention always pulled somewhere new. But standing here, knowing the most powerful of Ferelden awaited them, she felt a strength she'd never possessed in her life. It was as though he stood here with her now, leading her gently by the hand to her new future.

She would be brave, she would be strong, and she would win.

A double door entrance had been agreed upon as Alistair as his party accompanied her to the Royal Palace. From this moment on, not only was strength important, but image. They'd also agreed Alistair would lead them in. He was the one to take the throne, they needed to see him.

As a cohesive unit, they marched up the scarlet carpet. She was intimately aware of the many eyes watching. And then came the murmuring, her name intertwined in many of the whispers. To many, she had just returned from the dead.

Just as quickly, the moment was shattered at the sound of the General's voice from the head of the path. "Tell us, Warden," he growled, his eyes burning through Gilmore. "How _will_ the Orlesians take our nation from us? Will they deign to send their troops, or simply issue their commands through this would-be prince? How much Ferelden blood does Orlesian gold buy these days?"

Emma couldn't help keep quiet. This man was so intent on believing there was an Orlesian threat that he was sacrificing his people, his country, in the non-existent battle.

"Teryn Loghain," Emma addressed him politely. "The Blight is the threat here, not Orlais!"

"There are enough refugees in my Bannorn now to make that abundantly clear," Bann Alfstanna spoke up.

Emma turned and the two shared a look. With a tiny smile, Alfstanna nodded to her.

"The south is fallen, Loghain! Will you let darkspawn take the whole country for fear of Orlais?" another spoke up. Emma found herself rearing around in the other direction to find Arl Wulff leaning over the dais, addressing the entire court.

"The Blight is indeed real, Wulff, but do we need the Grey Wardens to fight it? They claim that they alone can end the Blight, yet they failed spectacularly against the Darkspawn at Ostagar, and they ask to bring with them four legions of chevaliers. And once we open our borders to the Chevaliers, can we really expect them to simply return from when they came?"

"Your fear of this nonexistent threat will be the end of Ferelden," Alistair spoke clearly, circling to make eye contact with each noble as he spoke. "I was there at Ostagar, in case any of you have forgotten. My fellow Warden and I were assigned the task of lighting the Tower of Ishal. This was to signal Teryn Loghain's advance to which he instead retreated, leaving King Cailan, the Wardens, and many Ferelden troops to be slaughtered by the Darkspawn. Not hours after, while their corpses still befouled the field, he returned to safer pastures, spinning tales of the Grey Warden's betrayal to the King. The Warden's defended the King until their final breaths. You speak of our treachery," Alistair affirmed. "Your deceit has left Ferelden without a King in its greatest time of need. It is time for your crimes to be acknowledged."

"You goaded him into making that charge!" Loghain shouted. "He _believed_ the tales, Warden. He thought that your handful of men would turn the tide for him, strategy and consequence be hanged! What would you have me do? Cailan's was not the only life in my hands. Should I have sacrificed the entire army for his mistake? Do not imagine you can shame me with Cailan's death. He was Maric's son. My king. No one regrets his loss more than I do."

"Then perhaps you should atone by supporting Maric's remaining son," Emma poised.

By now, she knew Eamon would have spread word, but it still didn't quell the rushed whispers once more, this time surrounding Alistair's name.

"Indeed!" Bann Alfstanna chirped from above once more. "Do we not owe it to Maric to see his son on the throne?"

"If he were a true son of Maric, I would not hesitate to swear fealty to him. But I see nothing of Maric in this pup," he growled.

"Blood is blood Loghain," Bann Sighard spoke for the first time, his voice carrying over the rafters. "You, nor any other, possess the right to deny blood. Theirin is Theirin."

Voices suddenly erupted from the room as nobles began to argue amongst themselves, but with each she listened to, more and more seemed to agree with Bann Sighard.

"Enough of this," Loghain shouted. "I have a question for you, Lady Cousland. What have you done with my daughter?"

"Your daughter?" Emma stammered. "I have done nothing, but protect her from you."

"You took my daughter – our Queen – by force, killing her guards in the process. What arts have you employed to keep her? Does she even still live?"

"I believe I can speak for myself!" the Queen's voice rose.

Zevran leaned close, his lips brushing against Emma's ear as he spoke. "A new pair of Antivan boots says this is not going to go well."

Emma's lips turned down into a hard line. No, it certainly wasn't.

"Lord and ladies of Ferelden, hear me. These Wardens and this Cousland has slandered and defamed Ferelden's greatest hero in a bid to put an imposter on Maric's throne."

With a sigh, Emma shuffled a slight bit closer to Alistair.

"And for the second time, she has turned on us. What a shock. She seemed like such a _nice_ despot," Alistair mumbled under his breath.

"It has become clear to me, Lady Cousland, that the true threat to this nation is you."

With Anora's final words, Alistair surged forward, only held back by Emma's calm hand. "Patience," she cautioned him.

"She and her Wardens stormed the Denerim estate and slaughtered every last one of my guards," Anora spoke, her voice carrying throughout the hall. "But it did not end there. Arl Rendon Howe was next. Word has reached me of the condition you left him in," she stated, turning those treacherous eyes towards Emma. "What say you?"

Emma stood for a few moments, centering herself. Truthfully, she had wondered if it would come to this. With a deep breath and a quick glance to Alistair, she turned, addressing the nobles. "What the Queen has accused me of is not entirely accurate."

"And we are to believe your word-"

"You've had your chance to speak," Emma interrupted her. "I believe it is now my turn. Perhaps many of you do not know but my father and brother were scheduled to ride to Ostagar to assist King Cailan in the battle, as was Arl Rendon Howe. That night my home was lay siege, every man, woman, and child slaughtered. My dear nephew I found lying in his own pool of blood next to his mother. Down the hall lay the bodies of Lady Leandra and her son Dairren. My mother and I fought our way to my father who had already been fatally wounded by one of Howe's men. On the request of my parents, I left. I barely made it to the servant's passage before Howe entered and demanded to know where I was. I watched then as he butchered my mother before ordering his men to do the same to me.

"And so I ask you. Which of you have ever woken to the sounds of all those you loved being murdered by one you called friend? There are even a few of you present who witnessed my abduction from the Denerim Market not a week ago. It was then I was taken to Howe's estate here in Denerim where I was tortured mercilessly as Howe demanded to know the names of the nobles I had asked for assistance from. They were to be the next on his list, simply because I had spoken with them. But I would _not _give up the name of one my father called friend, one that had forsworn his loyalty to me. And so I was put to the rack."

A gasp tore through the chamber.

"To respond to your accusation, Anora," she said as she turned. "Yes, I killed Arl Rendon Howe in the dungeon of his estate. I did it because I would not have any other families tore apart as mine was. But as for your guards, those deaths lie on your shoulders, my Queen. Need I remind you that you sent your chambermaid Erlina to us to ask for help. You had heard talk of How plotting your death and placing the blame on Eamon. Once we were surrounded by Ser Cauthrien and her guards, you were given the opportunity to end that battle with no bloodshed, but instead you lied. If I am to be held responsible for Howe's death, than you shall be held for Ser Cauthriens."

Emma couldn't help but gain satisfaction from the paling of Anora's face. And she wasn't the only one to notice it.

"But I think we have had enough accusations for the night," she finished with. "We have gathered here tonight to address the crimes of Teryn Loghain and to vote on the future of Ferelden. I understand the Blight to be of the utmost concern. I also know that my father would support the blood of Maric. And so I throw my vote to Alistair, the rightful heir to the throne. And as the last remaining Cousland, ask you to consider doing the same."

"Well, perhaps not the last remaining Cousland," a deep voice came from the back of the room.

Brow narrowing in confusion, Emma turned to watch the crowd of noble's part like water. There on the other end was a face that she never thought to see again.

"Emma," Alistair murmured next to her, his voice filled with awe.

Tears sprang to her eyes as she stumbled forward, her arms outstretched to receive him.

"Fergus," his name fell past her lips with such reverence. Memories of her blindly searching the Wilds for her brother surrounded her like faded spirits. "Maker, forgive me," she whispered.

The moment she was pulled into her brother's arms, her sobs broke free.

"Oh Emma," he crooned to her, cupping the back of her head. "I am so relieved to find you. I've been searching for days."

"I shouldn't have said that about Oren, I'm so sorry," she wept.

"Hush, it needed to be said."

"And where does your vote lie, _Teryn_ Cousland?" another of the noble's spoke up.

It was true. With her brother here, her say was inconsequential. Alive, he was the eldest and the Teryn. But there was no resentment. Having her brother back in her life meant so much to her. And she had no doubt which way he would cast his vote.

"As a father and son of those massacred in my home; as brother to the one tortured within the Denerim estate; and as a loyal Ferelden, my vote lies with Prince Alistair. What has happened to my family, sadly, pales in comparison to the threat of the Blight. And Ferelden requires a true leader, one who understands exactly what that means. I, too, have heard talk over the past days. While Loghain remained here, fighting his civil war, there has only been one out there accumulating an army to defend Ferelden; the dwarves of Orzammar, the Dalish elves, and the Circle Mages have all sworn their allegiance to this man. He is the true leader of Ferelden and has proved it many times over."

Emma stared up at her brother, tears of appreciation shining in her eyes.

A whirlwind of votes was cast, their voices rising in unison. Only one for against them. Torn between the man she loved and her brother, Emma danced between the two of them, her relief unmistakable.

"Traitors!" Loghain bellowed, his voice slicing through her reverie. "Which of you stood against the Orlesian emperor when his troops flattened your fields and raped your wives? You fought with us once, Eamon. You cared about this land once. Before you got too old and fat and content to even see what you risk. None of you deserve a say in what happens here! None of you have spilled blood for this land the way I have! How dare you judge me!"

"Call off your men," Fergus warned. "You've lost."

"Then let us end this," he growled, drawing his blade and lifting it until the tip bobbed at Alistair's throat.

Without even thinking, Emma lurched forward, her hands already gripping the blades she had hidden within her top earlier. Before Alistair had even a chance to draw his own weapon, she brought her elbow down on Loghain's arm and spun in a tight circle, her blades suddenly pressed tight against the flesh of his neck.

Yet again, gasps encircled her but she held fast. She knew this was not her fight, it never had been. But attacking when one wasn't prepared wasn't honorable. And while that was how she had been trained, it was not meant for a Landsmeet.

Alistair's armored glove fell on her shoulder. "Easy, love," he breathed in her ear.

"Call of your men and settle this honorably," she snarled.

A flicker of fear flashed across the General's face. So close to death, he swallowed before nodding.

"Who is to face me?" he questioned calmly.

"Alistair is the champion," she responded, knowing it would be expected of him to fight Loghain.

With a deep breath, Emma lowered her blades and stalked back towards Fergus, who tucked her under his arm.

"I forgot how quick you were," he chuckled.

But she couldn't laugh, couldn't feel anything other than dread. If Alistair was harmed in this, she had no idea how she would handle it. He had been voted in as King, did that mean nothing to anyone?

The sounds of their blades meeting shuddered through her. She felt her brother's gaze on her, but she couldn't tear her eyes from the fight. The only consolation gained was how even they appeared in the match.

Their war cries pierced the silence, the slicing of the air like an added weight to her façade. Each seemed able to counter the other's moves. Her worries seemed unwarranted, but it was Alistair. So when Loghain's blade cut through the air and Alistair's cry sounded, she gasped, dancing forward. It was only Fergus's grip that held her back.

She watched in horror as Alistair stumbled back. From her angle, she saw the stain of blood darkening his face.

"Ali," she murmured under her breath, but Fergus's grip only tightened.

Loghain bore down on him, his blade balancing precariously in his fingers. Thankfully, Alistair caught his balance and dove out of the way in time for Loghain's blade to slam down into the ground.

Off balance, he struggled to right himself. But as he turned, Alistair struck out, his shield bashing against the General's face. It was then Alistair let loose, his skills fighting Darkspawn pouring out from his every move. It wasn't until he spun, the edge of his shield cleaving into Loghain's throat that the Teryn crumpled into a pile at his feet.

Gasping for air, he struggled to his knees. "It appears there is some of Maric in you after all."

"Forget Maric," Alistair dismissed him. "This is for Duncan."

Alistair clutched his blade and, taking a lesson from Emma, spun.

"No!" Anora cried seconds before the steel edge cleaved into his neck.

All life vanished from his body as he fell back, his wide, unseeing eyes, staring up at the rafters. Emma wrenched free of her brother's hold and jogged over to Alistair, her hands sliding into his. Afraid to show more, she simply smiled, hoping he saw the relief within her.

"So it is decided. Alistair will take his father's throne," Eamon announced.

Alistair turned his gaze from Emma's to face Eamon. "I accept."

"Anora, the Landsmeet has decided against you. You must now swear fealty to our king, and relinquish all claims to the throne for yourself and your heirs."

"If you think I will swear that oath, Eamon, you know nothing of me," Anora snapped.

"King Alistair, Ferelden must not be left in a state of civil war. We must have unity. If she will not swear fealty to you and renounce her claim to the throne ,she is a threat to us all."

"Put her in the tower," Alistair announced. "Lock her up. If I fall in the battle, than Ferelden falls to her."

"So quick to give up the throne, already?" Anora hissed.

"I said _if_ I fall Anora. It's time someone starts taking this Blight seriously."

He signaled the guards forward, who with a nod escorted Anora out.

Alistair stepped forward, "When the Blight is over, I'll come back and take up my duties as King. Until then, I think Arl Eamon shall be appointed forward as my regent."

"I can do Maric's memory no less honor than you do. I accept. And may the Maker bless your efforts against the Darkspawn."

"And I'd hope Ser Gilmore will accept Loghain's position as leader of my armies."

Emma smiled as she watched Gilmore take his place before the Landsmeet. Her hand tightened against her brothers.

"Thank you Majesty," he stated, bowing his head respectfully.

"We shall finish this, together," he said.

"We will beat this Blight," Gilmore finished. "As Cailan dreamed."

He turned to address the nobles once more. "Get ready to march. It's going to take all of Ferelden's strength to survive this Blight. But we _will_ face it, and we _will _defeat it!"

A rowdy cheer erupted from the noble's, their cheers likely heard for miles. Emma watched him, their King, _her_ King and had never felt such pride before in her life.

"It seems we have some talking to do," Fergus murmured to her.

She turned towards him, nodding. Things were finally falling in place. "We can talk at Eamon's estate."

She felt Alistair's presence behind her.

"Teryn Cousland," he said, reaching forward to shake her brother's hand. "I am happy to see you alive. Your sister was quite distraught over your rumored death."

Fergus laughed, ruffling his younger sister's hair. "If you don't mind, I'd like to steal her away for a bit. A little family talk."

"Of course," Alistair agreed. He lowered down and brushed a gentle kiss against the top of her head. "Until later."

Her lips curved into a soft smile. "Until then."


	28. Chapter 28

**SLOWLY getting to the end haha... only a few more chapters! Enjoy guys!**

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><p>Chapter 28<p>

-Emma-

The two embraced the moment the door clicked shut behind them. Having her brother back in her life brought a flood of feeling to the surface. Before she could even contain it, it spilled over her cheeks, her fingers digging into his clothing as though never to let go.

Different emotions battled within her until the strongest won out.

Drawing back, the sound of her palm connecting with his bare arm echoed through the room.

"Where were you?" she demanded with an angry tone. "What happened? I thought you were dead!"

His smile was gentle as he listened to his sister berate him. "So did I for a while. The King ordered us out to patrol the Wilds, scout before the battle."

"I know. I was out there looking for you."

"So I heard," he chuckled. "My dear reckless sister. My party was attacked by a horde. We weren't prepared for their number and we fell. I awoke later. I had been taken in by a family of chasind wilders. They nursed me back to health and when I started to question them about where I was, they allowed me to leave."

"I thought the darkspawn found you. I met one of the men you were traveling with. I had to bandage him up."

He took his hands into his own, a shadow darkening his face with his next question. "Tell me of home. The things I've heard," he trailed off with a shake of his head.

"I'm sure it's exactly as you heard. The night that you left, Howe and his men stormed the estate. Beyond the fact that they killed everyone we ever loved, does the rest matter?"

"No, I suppose not."

A silent reminder of all they'd lost permeated the room.

"You have grown, sister," Fergus finally stated after approaching the window, staring out at the market before them.

"Being put to the rack did make me an inch taller, I think," she teased lightly.

He cast a scalding look over his shoulder, his features grim. Apparently, he hadn't found the humor in it that she had.

"This is not the time for glibness. I see you've become quite attached to the future King of Ferelden. What," he smiled, turning to her. "Teryna wasn't enough for you, so you had to aspire to be the new queen?"

With his words, her breath caught in her throat. She turned from him with watering eyes, struggling to clear the bubble lodged within.

Her brother's hand came down on her back with a large clap. "Did you think me blind?" he laughed. "I would wager the entire court is aware of your feelings for one another. The way he looks at you…" he trailed off for a moment, his eyes dimming with his next words. "I remember a time when the love of a woman filled my heart with joy."

"I am sorry about-"

"It's done," he waved his hand. "I will deal with it later. For now, the Blight must be our concern."

"So people keep saying," she murmured.

"How much longer do you think we'll have until someone-"

A light rap against the door sounded through the room.

"Interrupts us," he laughed.

A sliver of light ebbed into the room as it cracked open. Blonde tuffs of hair poked through, the curve of his smile the first thing he noticed.

"We're to leave for Redcliffe immediately," the man of the hour informed them.

Emma couldn't help her own smile. Just the sight of his rosy lips brought it out of her.

With a low chuckle, Fergus nudged her. "I'll just go annoy someone else then."

Before either Alistair or Emma could convince him there was no need, he was gone, pulling the door shut behind him.

"Congratulations," she murmured to him the moment he took her into his arms.

"I didn't do anything," he shrugged.

"No, you merely convinced all the nobles to side with you-"

"That was you."

"And then defeated Loghain in front of said nobles."

"Okay, that was me," he laughed. "At least the both of us no longer need to worry about assassination attempts."

"There is that."

"If it weren't for the Blight, I think I'd feel oddly relaxed right now."

Chuckling, she brushed the back of her knuckles against his jaw. "You'll be a fine king," she told him, her thoughts a little conflicted. As the monarch, he'd need to be in Denerim, that was where he belonged. But Emma knew she belonged in Highever, with her brother. It would take a lot of work to restore their home and they both needed to be there to help. She didn't want to leave him, but it was likely going to happen anyways.

"Emma, there's something I've been meaning to ask you."

Ridding her mind of such thoughts, she turned to him with a bright smile, if not a little forced.

His lips parted and she could see his question forming on his lips, when the door burst open again and Eamon entered.

"Alistair, we are simply waiting on the two of you to leave. Need I remind you now is not the time for loitering, we must leave for Redcliffe immediately."

"Yes, Eamon, thank you," Alistair growled, his fingers tightening against Emma's.

The old man turned, leaving the door ajar as he walked out.

"Come on," he sighed. "Let's just go."

-oOo-

-Alistair-

"It is a relief to see you all unharmed," Riordan stated as the caravan entered the main hall. "The Darkspawn that attacked Redcliffe were relatively few in number, I'm afraid. It was assumed the horde was marking in this direction… but that is not true."

"Riordan tells us that the bulk of the horde is, in fact, heading towards Denerim. They are perhaps two days away from the capital," Eamon confessed.

"What?" Alistair demanded, "Are we sure about that? I mean… if that's true…"

"I ventured close enough to 'listen in', as it were. I am quite certain."

"What does this mean?" Emma whispered, glancing up to her brother.

"It means Denerim will fall," Gilmore responded. "Why did we think they would be heading here?"

"The Darkspawn line is wide, and many of them roam away from the main horde. Until now, most of them have been spotted here in the west. It only made sense then to assume-"

"That seems rather foolish," Zevran spoke up. "These creatures are not entirely brainy, as some might say. How are any of us to know what they are truly thinking?"

"Not to mention that we've been too busy killing each other to pay much attention to some silly old Darkspawn horde," Alistair grumbled.

Emma felt as though she was caught in the middle of a duel, her eyes dancing to catch up with whoever spoke next. It seemed so pointless to her. They had _just_ set out from Denerim, their army in tow, only to turn and head right back in the same direction.

"There is, I'm afraid one other piece of news that is of even greater concern," Riordan called attention back to himself. "The archdemon has shown itself. The dragon is at the head of the horde."

"Maker preserve us," Teagan mumbled.

"But we can't reach Denerim within two days," Alistair stated. "It's too far."

"We must begin a forced march to the capital immediately, with what we have. Denerim must be defended at all costs."

Emma stepped forward, her eyes dancing between the crowd of men gathering at the fire. "I hate to be the one to say this, but the archdemon is what's important here. Denerim will not be the only one to fall if we ignore that."

"And only the Grey Wardens can defeat the archdemon. That is why we must go," Riordan said with a nod to her.

"Then we march, and hope the army we've collected here gives us the chance we need," Alistair proclaimed. "Arl Eamon, how long before the army can set out?"

"By daybreak."

"Then let's get them ready. I won't let all those people die without giving them a chance."

"But how are we to destroy the archdemon?" Gilmore asked.

"Yes, I was wondering that myself."

"Then… you don't know? Of course not. You are both new recruits. Duncan wouldn't have expected…"

Eamon cleared his throat before turning to Alistair. "I will give the orders at once, and will notify you the moment we are ready to march."

"That would be appreciated."

"And Alistair, perhaps you Gilmore should meet me before you retire for the evening. There are… things we need to speak of."

Emma didn't like the sound of that. Hearing him say the Grey Wardens were the only ones that could defeat the archdemon worried her. What skills did they possess that no others did? Alistair's beginning, while a bit different being raised in a Chantry, didn't actually make _him_ different. And she knew Gilmore, while a Knight, was no different than any other Knight. So why were they the _only_ ones that could destroy the archdemon?

"I will have someone show you all to your rooms," Eamon finished. "I suggest you all get some rest, while you can. We will need it."

-oOo-

He stared forward, towards the door of his room. A torrent of thoughts clouded his mind. There were too many voices for him to actually listen to each individually. But from the ache in his chest, he understood the overarching theme.

"_If the archdemon is slain by a Grey Warden… its essence travels into the Grey Warden, instead. A darkspawn is an empty, soulless vessel, but a Grey Warden is not. The essence of the archdemon is destroyed… and so is the Grey Warden."_

"_Meaning…" Alistair had questioned, "The Grey Warden who kills the archdemon… dies?"_

So this was to be it. It was down to the three of them. Yes, Riordan suggested he be the one to take the kill as he was the oldest, but he'd seen a Darkspawn war from afar before, one that slaughtered many more than three Wardens. So it was needless to say, he was concerned.

He'd told Emma he'd find her after the conversation, but now he had no idea what to do. In Denerim, he'd been sure he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. That hadn't changed, not in the least, just the timeline. Suddenly, the rest of his life was a few days from now.

The moment he'd heard Riordan's words, he'd felt a chill pass over him. If this was to be it for him, he'd take the blow with courage. He was, after all, King. And how fitting for the King to fall protecting the country.

It was with that thought that his eyes meandered to his nightstand, the small box sitting forlornly atop it. Sighing, he snatched it off the table and stuffed it in his pocket. Suddenly his life had become a now or never. And now seemed the best time for something that was never going to happen.

He stalked down the hall and rapped against her door before he had a chance to convince himself otherwise. The door flew open, her sweet little face beaming up at him. His thoughts were chaotic, there was just too much happening in his head.

Spartacus lay on the foot of her bed, his bored eyes just watching him. How he longed for a little boredom. It had been so long. As it was, he felt the hourglass of his life slipping away, each little grain of sand precariously throwing the balance. With each moment of happiness gained, it seemed the Maker delivered two of despair.

"Alistair?" she whispered.

"Marry me," was all he said.


	29. Chapter 29

**A bit shorter than normal, but it fits the purpose. Hopefully you all enjoy it, I wanted to get this chapter out of the way so we can all get down to business! Perhaps we should take a vote! Alistair = live or die? Let me know!  
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><p>Chapter 29<p>

-Emma-

Emma stared up at him in shock. The words themselves made sense but for some reason she was a little lost on the concept. She stepped aside, allowing him access to her room. But as he swept past, she held still, her mind just buzzing. Maybe she heard wrong? Maybe this was some sort of sick joke. She wasn't sure what to believe.

Finally, she turned, her eyes narrowing as she watched him. There was no smile, no warmth to his eyes. She knew her silence was killing him but she was at a loss for what to say.

"Emma," he groaned, "Please say something."

Her lips moved but no sound came out. Of course she had thought of this. She _wanted_ this. But something was off. He seemed… defeated somehow. Was this what he had been trying to ask her in Denerim?

"What did you ask me?" she breathed.

He stepped forward and took her hands into his. An added weight dragged her attention down and when she looked, a large gem sparkled on her finger. Her chest suddenly constricted with emotion. No, she hadn't been imagining things, he had actually just asked her to marry him. But it wasn't only happiness she felt. Of course that was buried within her somewhere, she could feel the tiny niggling satisfaction of seeing the ring on her finger, he'd obviously been thinking about this if he had bought one. But then there was fear. And that seemed to be the most predominant.

"Why are you doing this?" she whispered.

"Why does any man?" he answered. He was so close she could hear the frantic thrumming of his heart.

"You are not just _any_ man." She looked up to him, their gazes connecting. There was something buried within there. She knew him well enough to know. "Alistair, what's wrong?"

A dark frown shadowed over his face as he took a step back. "Why does there have to be something wrong?"

She glanced back down at the ring again. It was spectacular. A single diamond intertwined within spirals of white gold, the band covered in smaller, but just as beautiful, diamonds. When her gaze returned to him, she was struck by the level of fear etched within his face. "Please tell me."

He shook his head. "I can't."

"So it's Grey Warden business then."

After a moment, he nodded. She wasn't stupid. The moment she had heard Riordan talk about destroying the archdemon, the moment the other two Wardens showed ignorance towards it, she knew something was wrong. But what was it?

"You haven't answered me," he stated.

She dragged a hand through her hair. "That's because I don't know how to take this."

"Emma," he whispered. "I've never been more serious in my life. The moment I met you, I just knew."

And there it was, the smile she had been waiting for. His lips curved upwards, his face softening as he remembered something.

"You were so scared," he laughed. "But so beautiful. And since that moment you were all I could think about."

"Why are you asking me this?"

His face crumpled, the pain of this hidden secret streaking darkness across his face. "I just told-"

"No, I mean why now?" she interrupted. "Why the day before we leave for Denerim?"

He spun, his land gently laying on Spartacus's back.

"Because for one moment in my life, I want to have done something right," he whispered. "I want to be able to ride into the battle knowing what I'm returning home to if I survive."

A chill puckered her skin. "Alistair-"

"Please, let me finish."

She swallowed her words.

"All my life I have done what other people expected of me. I became a Grey Warden because it was the first sense of freedom I'd ever felt. When Cailan fell, I _knew_ they would look to me. Sure, I'd hoped they wouldn't. But that was foolish. But you," he turned back to face her, "You weren't something chosen for me. You fell into my life and brought with you a belief that I could do this. You aren't theirs," he swept his arm out. "You're mine. I've been lucky enough that you chose me. And I want the world to know that before-" he paused.

"Before you die?" she whispered, finishing the words they both could hear hanging over their heads.

"It's a war, Emma. It's probably best to assume you won't return home."

Tears sprang to her eyes. When she thought on the future, it had Alistair there. She never once imagined him dying. But there was a truth to his words. War was unpredictable. And these weren't men they would be fighting.

Finally, with a sad smile, she nodded.

A flash of emotion broke through his dark exterior. For a moment, he was Alistair again, with his bright eyes and flushed cheeks.

"Yes?" he whispered.

"Yes."

He swept forwards and dragged her into his arms, showering her with kisses.

"Come with me," he laughed, pulling her from her room.

"Where?"

"To the Chantry, to Mother Hannah."

Emma slammed her heels into the floor, staring up at him with wide eyes. "Now?"

"Yes now," he laughed.

"Alistair…"

His mouth claimed hers once more before she could argue. "Please, Emma."

How could she deny him when he seemed so eager? She nodded once more, but held up a hand. "But only if our friends are there."

-oOo-

"We are gathered here today, before all who come to bear witness, and with the Maker's blessing, to witness these two forever solidify themselves in marriage," Mother Hannah's voice echoed through the vaulted building.

Next to her stood Fergus, who was watching with the utmost look of peace. When she had barged into his room and shouted at him that she was getting married, he merely smiled and rose. There had been no surprise.

And behind Fergus was her friend, and bodyguard, Zevran. Upon his hearing the news, he had lifted her into a hug and announced playfully that they could never be. Even Alistair laughed.

Even Gilmore seemed oddly accepting, who stood with Alistair. There was on presence missing, one that couldn't be missed. With the witch gone, the proceedings seemed a slight bit more friendly. Apparently she had left, the coming battle too much for her to handle, or something. Gilmore had told Alistair he'd inform him later of the situation. Right now, it was about them.

Alistair's hand tightened on Emma, his smile bringing her back to the present.

"Marriage is not something that should be entered into lightly. It is with deep compassion and commitment to one another that only the Maker shall accept. And with this proclamation, I will ask of you Alistair Theirin, King of Ferelden, do you understand and agree to such terms? Will you promise with all your heart to love this woman, in sickness and health, till death parts you."

At the mention of death, a trickle of fear crept through Emma's heart, but she forced it back. Again, this was not the time.

"I promise," he responded hoarsely, simpering at his wife-to-be.

"And you, Emma Cousland, Lady of Highever, do you pledge to do the same?"

"I do," she promised, catching her brother's grin from the corner of her eye.

"Then it is with the Maker's blessing and all those who have come to witness this splendid day that I proclaim you Alistair and Emma Theiran, future King and Queen of Ferelden."

That last bit slammed hard in her chest. She felt her eyes widen as she stared up at her new husband. In all the madness, she hadn't even thought that part through. Queen of Ferelden? She had been frightened by Teryna, but a queen?

But as Alistair took her into his arms and sealed the promise with a kiss, the worry fluttered away. That was something she could figure out another day.

"Happy day," Zevran laughed. "Now if you don't mind, I shall find myself a nice tavern wench to bed and call it a night."

Leliana's laughter lit up the Chantry. She looped her arm through Zevran's before tossing a saucy wink to Emma. "I might just join you."

Emma couldn't help but laugh at the look of utter surprise brightening he elf's face.

"Shall be an exciting evening then!" he announced before leading her out.

"About Morrigan," Gilmore mumbled.

"I don't want to hear it," Alistair said gently. "She is gone, that's the end of it."

Emma could see something was bothering Gilmore. But he merely nodded and left.

"Now," Alistair murmured in her ear. "I would like to take my wife-"

"Wife she may be, but she is still my sister," Fergus laughed, drawing Emma in for a hug. "Save that talk for the bedroom."

Alistair's eyes flashed with amusement. "I intend to."

"And that's my cue to leave also," he chuckled, placing a gentle kiss against the top of her head. "I will see you in the morning."

As he left, a withered hand took his place. Emma glanced up to find the mage staring down lovingly at the two of them. But no words needed to be said. With a gentle pat, she left, the abrasively drunken dwarf stumbling in her wake.

"Come," Alistair led her by the hand. "I do believe we have some unfinished business to attend to."

"Always business with you," she joked. "Can't I have some fun for once?"

His hands covered his heart, a mock scowl covering his face. "You wound me!"

Laughing, she leaned forward and whispered, "I'll race you."

"You'll cheat," he accused.

"Cheaters always win," she joked.

"I do believe I've heard that somewhere. On the count of three… One, two," Before he reached three, both took off at the same time, their laughter chasing them as they ran. Emma pulled out all the stops, shouldering him into walls, trying to trip him, but she couldn't account for the difference in height. Four of her strides equaled one of his. He kept up easily. Just as they reached their room, he turned and swept her up into his arms, beaming down at her as he carried her into the room.


	30. Chapter 30

**So after 15000 hits, we've reached the near end. After this there is only one more chapter, so enjoy it all while it lasts! **

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><p>Chapter 30<p>

-Alistair-

The past three days with Emma, regardless of the dark situation brewing within Denerim had been the best of his life. It was the main reason it pained him to say the words he'd been struggling with since leaving Redcliffe. He'd woken the morning after they were married and glanced down at her sleeping form, her fingers twined with his. The scene was very reminiscent of the fade, only this time it was no demon lying next to him. It was his wife. His wife. The words were foreign to him and yet rolled off his tongue. She was Emma Theirin now. And there was nothing more alluring to him than that. But it was then he had remembered the conversation with Riordan and knew what he had to do. It wouldn't be easy and that was why it had taken him this long to pluck up the courage. He'd already spoken with Fergus and ensured his orders were to be explicity followed.

Soon they would reach Denerim; the black clouds snaking over their heads only confirmed it. Beyond those walls, the Ferelden he knew no longer existed. It was now the Blightlands.

Anxiety wormed through his stomach as he stared at the billows of destruction in the distance. Was this how Cailan felt? Staring out to the Darkspawn horde, had he felt such apprehension? Had he known his death was guaranteed? Had the Maker whispered to him the night before and told him of his fate? Alistair was sure of his. And staring now down on his wife, the sight of her filled him with a strength he'd never known he possessed. The moment he'd taken her hand into his and promised his entire existence to her, he understood wholly what that meant. Apprehension, he might have felt, but fear? The absence of it was almost staggering. Tomorrow he would meet the archdemon and he would laugh as he dragged it back to the void. As for Emma...

"What?" she finally laughed.

His brow arched high.

"You've been staring at me all day."

He took a steadying breath and glanced to Fergus, giving a brisque nod.

"Emma, there's something I want you to do for me," he said, his voice hushed so not to be overheard.

"Anything," she smiled.

"I'm going to hold you to that," he warned. He reached for her hand and pressed the tips of her fingers against his lips. "You know I love you more than anything..."

"Mmm," she mused, her eyes flickering with humor as he attempted to butter her up.

"And would do anything for you."

Her lips parted with a soft laugh. "Alright, out with it. What's this horrible favor of yours?"

"I want you to leave," he finally spoke.

Her body went rigid, her jeweled eyes crystalizing.

"What?"

"I'm sending you home," he stated again.

He could see her struggling to find his logic. A range of emotions scoured her face. How he would miss the blush that warmed her skin, or the way she wrinkled her nose when she was uncomfortable. He would miss the scent of her hair, and the wildness it added to her when she grew excited. He would miss many things, more then he could count. But she would not lose out on another moment of her life, he would ensure that.

"No," she laughed nervously. "You have to be joking."

"I've never been more serious in my life."

"If you expect me to just turn around and walk away, you don't know me."

"But I do know you," he whispered a money before Fergus's hands clamped down on her shoulders. "I've charged your brother with the orders of ensuring your safe return home. If he disobeys," he trailed off. She knew the rest.

"You wouldn't," she hissed. "Alistair, you can't do this. I don't belong in Highever! I belong here with you, by your side."

He shook his head. "I don't want you here."

He didn't like saying things he knew hurt her but he also knew she had to hear them.

"Ali," she simpered, her hands curling into his shirt. "I cannot simply walk away. Too much of my own life rides on this battle."

"I will come to you after," he lied. "I'll leave for Highever immediately following the battle."

"You're coronation though," she whispered. "Why does it have to be Highever?"

Because he wanted her with family when the news came. Highever was her home and it was time for her to return.

"Just do this for me Emma," he crooned to her, brushing his knuckles against her cheek.

"Fergus," she tried, but the Teryn only shrugged.

"Emma, go."

"Now?" she cried, panicked tears now streaming down her cheeks. "This is crazy! Ali, no!"

He swept down and crushed her mouth beneath his. He hated causing her pain, but this was for the best. If she remained, he'd be watching for her more than fighting. And he didn't want her to see him...after.

The moment he stepped away, he nodded to her brother. "Go," he ordered.

Fergus took her by the hand and began to lead her away. Alistair could hear her complaints and listened until her voice faded into the dark.

This was for the best, he told himself as he called for the troops to move forward once more.

-oOo-

It must have been daylight by now, she figured, staring up at the offending clouds. But all he could see was darkness, the darkspawns taint destroying everything she loved.

It had been hours since Alistair had ordered her removal and Fergus remained as vigilant as ever. Trained by the same man, he knew all her moves and was prepared for every attempt. They hadn't made it far, with Emma fighting him every inch of the way. But she knew from the roars of fury in the backdrop the battle had begun in Denerim.

Part of her was enraged with her husband. He should have known better, the other half terrified. This was not some measly little werewolf problem he was dealing with, or a stray paragon; this was the Darkspawn horde with an archdemon leading the way. She needed to be with him. That was where she belonged. Not sitting out here in a field somewhere fighting her brother.

The land was so quiet. She'd never heard it as such before. Not a cricket or bird chirped into the darkness. There were no howls of wolves, or even her mabari who apparently had been allowed to remain with the army.

She rose from her rock and turned to face her brother.

"No," he murmured.

"Andraste's flaming sword!" Emma shouted, adapting one of Alistair's favorite sayings. "This isn't a game Fergus! People are going to die!"

"Believe me, no one thinks of this as game."

"Then why are we still here? Fergus, you and I are two of the best in Highever. Alistair's army could benefit from our help!"

"Yes, but your King has ordered you back to Highever."

"I don't care," she exclaimed in a shrill voice.

"Perhaps you don't, but I do."

"Why, because you agree with him?" she demanded. "Too afraid to get hurt?"

His eyes slammed into hers. Even in the dark, she could see them, they were so blue. "I think you of anyone would know that is not the case."

"Then why are we still here?" she demanded again. "Why? To the void, Fergus-"

"Because I'm afraid of losing you!" he suddenly shouted. "Maker's breath, Emma, can't you see that. Both Alistair and I are afraid of that. Without you, neither of us…" he trailed off, turning to stare out into the impending shadows.

"Fergus," she tried again, this time with a softer voice. "I know you're scared, I am too. I'm scared of losing everything that's important to me. You and Alistair are all I have left as well. But you guys can't hide me away somewhere. I _belong_ with him, in sickness and health. I can't just stand here and wait for him to come home, that's not who I am."

"Don't do this, Emma," he shook his head. "Don't ask this of me. I can't…"

With a small smile, she quietly approached him, her arms looping around his shoulders. "Come with me," she suggested.

His hands curved over hers. "Like I'd let you wander into a darkspawn assault without me."

Tugging on him, she pulled him to his feet. "Hurry," she pleaded with him. The two broke into a quick-paced run, racing towards the sounds of desperation and despair.

-oOo-

It seemed no matter how fast she ran, she was always one step behind Alistair. Everywhere she looked, there was evidence of him having been there. Dead ogres, beheaded genlocks, demons, dwarves, mages, all as far as the eye could see.

But it was the corpse of Riordan that shook her. His body was absolutely mutilated. Fergus directed her onwards, cautioning her not to look, but how could you not. The only consolation she found was that she hadn't stumbled over Alistair's body yet. Of course, with one Warden down, the chances were not in their favor.

The two raced up the stairs together, the deafening cries of the archdemon terrifying. Was Alistair there now? She could only imagine the scene unfolding as she spiraled upwards. Down the stairwell, the dragon's screams were gripping, the heat from his flames sparking the air.

At the sound of men screaming, Emma and Fergus faltered, sharing a look.

"Emma," he tried.

"No, Fergus. He's up there right now, I cannot just leave him."

After a few moments, he nodded once more before they lurched up the stairs once more.

The metal door that stood before her dangled from the hinges. Claw marks the size of her entire body marred the steel, the frame bent along with missing chunks as though something had taken a large bite out of it.

She forced back another wave of fear before pushing through.

The sight before her horrified her. Bodies strewn haphazardly across the rooftop, blood pooling between their corpses. Across the way, a battle ensued. She watched in awe as Alistair dodged around the legs, ducked under the belly, the entire time hacking and slashing as though his life depended n it. And from the dwindling numbers, it was safe to say it was.

The sight of Gilmore crumpling struck her. She inched forward, Fergus's hands holding her back. She shot a glance back at him, her lips moving, but the sound swallowed by a tormented screech of the dragon.

"Emma…" she could hear his voice now, it had grown so eerily quiet.

She turned back, a sigh slipping past her lips. The beast had fallen to the ground, its labored breathing like bliss to her ears.

Alistair stumbled backwards, still having not seen her. From the corner of her eye, she saw Gilmore rise.

"They're alright Fergus," she murmured. She couldn't help but smile at the two men before her, battling against all odds and winning.

She watched as Alistair's hands tightened on the hilt, lifting the blade above the dragon's head. Its yellow eyes glared at him, daring him to finish it.

Its leg twitched. She saw it, but he didn't, his attention drawn by Gilmore. Her stomach clenched in horror as the creature began to rouse.

"No," she whispered the moment she caught the bunching of its muscles. Injured, yes, but not down yet.

"Emma!" Fergus cried the moment she launched herself forward.

She pushed harder than she ever had before. Time itself seemed to slow as she watched Alistair turn to her, a look of shock setting in his face. Behind him, the beast grew as it picked itself up, its yellow eyes feasting on her husband.

"Alistair!" she shouted in warning a second before the beast dove for him.


	31. Epilogue

Epilogue

I don't want to remember anymore. The faded images are simply too much. A sigh slips past my lips as I stand. The sound of children playing weighs heavily on my heart. I would have thought over the years they would dim into naught by a nightmare, but no, I'm not that lucky. Each night I am plagued by those scenes I struggle now to forget. The sight of Emma racing towards me is something I will never forget. The fear squeezing my heart is a feeling I hope never to feel again, but do every day of my pained existence.

People walk by me, their eyes cast to the ground, too afraid to speak with me. They are unable to relate to me. I am what they seek to destroy. I am soulless, I am dead. There is no arguing it. They say I will survive, life will return to me. I'm still waiting for that day to come. The country might have survived the Blight but I did not. I died the day I buried my beloved's body. It was supposed to be I who died. I had walked up to archdemon, knowing I would fall to protect her. So much had gone wrong, Riordan's body spiraling to the ground, Eamon's crushed beneath the weight of the archdemon, and Wynne, swarmed by a horde of shrieks. And yet, I walked up to the archdemon with a smile on my face because I knew she was safe. She was returning to Highever with her brother. I would rid the world of this beast for her. She would live.

In the distance, I saw Gilmore stagger to his feet. As I clutched my sword, we had shared a nod. This was the end. One would fall for many to live.

It was the archdemon who thought otherwise. I hadn't seen it move, distracted by a sudden shifting of shadows. And then I heard her voice, crying my name, my world crumbling down around my feet. No, not my world, the archdemon. Everything shifted as the beast suddenly rose for a last attempt, its teeth narrowly missing me by a fraction of an inch. Something had jarred me, knocked me to the side.

A bellow of pain, a cry that pierced my soul, and the horrifying site of my beloved thrashing in the air, caught in the jaws of the beast. I think I screamed her name. I watched in horror as her mangled body was thrown clear across the rooftop. I was moving, faster than ever before.

She lay so still, her eyes wide and staring at the heavens above. The final roar of the beast and the death of my fellow Warden fell on deaf ears. She was all I could see. She is all I ever see.

I close my eyes once again to the memory. My lip trembles. So many years have passed and still the image of her in death is too much to bear.

The deep roads, a place I swore never to return to now stands before me, its darkness promising a reprieve only it can grant. Freedom, I had spoken with my dearest of that once. In her arms, I knew but a flicker of it.

Straight shouldered, I step towards the darkness. A sob escapes me the moment I see a shimmer in the shadows moving towards me.

_Emma_, I think, as I cross into the Darkspawn infested roads. _Soon, my love, we will be reunited. _

In peace, vigilance. In war, victory. In death, sacrifice.


End file.
